Family Ties
by Kurt
Summary: Clarice Starling renews some old family ties...and has to deal with someone who's got a grudge.
1. Aunt Clarice

            _Author's note:  Yes, I know, shouldn't work on two fics at once.  But here we have a serious fic in order to go along with the little insanity entitled 'Fanfic Leap' (yes, it seems people like it so it will go on for now.)  But here we are with something a bit more serious.  This isn't a sequel to either the Susana series or the Erin series – time for something completely new, clear the deck, start fresh.  We start out just after the end of Hannibal, movie-canon, where Clarice has returned to the FBI, and the GD has vanished.  (No, he didn't step into the Quantum Leap accelerator.)  _

            It was what most police officers call a righteous bust, and Clarice was pleased.  Working with DEA and ATF, the FBI had just broken up a big drug ring in Washington, DC.  Now was the pleasant afterglow of a job well done.  She'd taken down one of the drug kingpins herself, and that made her feel good.  The good guys had won one today.  The bad guys had been stuffed in the backs of several patrol cars and were now calling cells in DC's jails home.  Course, half of them would be out on the street tomorrow, but those were the breaks, and a few of them might stay there if the prosecutors did their jobs.  

                Her cell phone rang on her hip as she got out of the van and began walking through the parking lot of Quantico.  She grabbed it and stared at the display briefly.  The caller ID displayed a number from West Virginia.  Curious, Clarice punched TALK and put the phone to her ear.  

                "Starling," she said calmly.  

                "Clarice, how are you?" a voice asked, heavily stewed in the drawl she had tried to get rid of herself.  "It's Patty."  

                Clarice held back a sigh.

                "Hi," she said.  "What's new? Haven't heard from you in a while."  

                "Oh, well," Patty said, giggling nervously.  "Charlene wanted to talk t'you, y'know.  She's gonna be 'round your neck of the woods and wanted to see if she c'd visit."  

                _I can't believe she actually talks like that, Clarice Starling thought.  But while Clarice had escaped West Virginia for better things, her younger sister Patricia Starling had not.  She'd done everything the clichès said.  Pregnant at fifteen.  Dropped out of high school.  Married at sixteen and divorced at eighteen.  Thank God she'd finally settled down with a decent fella who fed her and her daughter well.  They had a house just as ramshackle as the one Clarice had grown up in.  _

                _Is your worst fear that people will now and forever believe they were, indeed, just good old, trailer camp, tornado bait white trash...and that perhaps you are too?  _

                Clarice shivered as she heard _that voice speak up, as it always did when thoughts of her younger sister came to mind.  Dr. Lecter and his incisive knowledge, slicing deep into her mind.  But no one had seen hide nor hair of the doctor since he had fled Chesapeake – and Clarice.   He had simply run across the lake and vanished into thin air.  But she was back on the job and Krendler was dead.  There was some quiet satisfaction in that.  _

                "Oh, really? Sure, put her on."  

                The excited voice of her fifteen-year-old niece came on the line.  "Aunt Clarice!  Hi, how are yew?"  

                "Doing good," Clarice said.  She'd never been able to get used to being called _Aunt Clarice.  She remembered the one time Patty had brought Charlene up to UVA, when she'd been at college there.  Everyone had thought it was hilarious that the four-year-old running around the dorm had called her 'Aunt Clarice' and for months they'd all called her 'Aunt Clarice'.  It had driven her nuts.  "How're you doing, Charlene?"  _

                "Oh, just _faaaahn," the girl said.  "Hey, listen, Ah'm goin' on a school trip to Washington, __Dee Cee, and I wanted to know if we could get together.  It's been a long time."  _

                It had indeed, Clarice thought.  Years.  Now that she thought about it, the last time she'd seen her niece was that trip to UVA.  It made her feel guilty to think about it, but she could only stand so much of her sister's tendency towards white-trashiness.  

                "Oh, sure thing," she said, guilt making her tone warm.  "That'd be great, Charlene.  When are you coming up?"  

                "Next week," Charlene drawled.  "School's out on the 19th – school proper, that is, an' we leave on the 20th and come back on the 27th."  

                Clarice thought.  She'd have to take some time off, except for a meeting she couldn't ditch on the 22nd.  But that was okay.  Maybe 'Delia would help her out.  And besides, they had to have _some _kind of activities planned for the kids.  They weren't going to let them run wild in DC, were they?  It occurred to her that Charlene was almost the same age Patty had been when she'd gotten pregnant.  

                _Oh please don't let my niece get pregnant while she's out here to see me, _Clarice thought, and then found herself feeling petty.  Charlene was a decent kid.  She hadn't gotten into the dope-and-partying stuff like her mother had.  That comforted Clarice Starling a bit.  

                "Sure, Charlene, that'd be fun," she said.  "You call me once you get up here, we'll arrange something fun."  They could do all the tourist things that Clarice Starling, a long-time resident of DC, never did.  And she might be able to urge her niece to follow in her footsteps instead of her cousin's.  

                "Okay," Charlene answered.  "Much oblige, Aunt Clarice.  I'll call yew once Ah git up thar."  

                Clarice winced.  _Please God, I hope I don't talk like that. _But it would be nice to see her niece.  She rarely got the chance to renew family ties; her job kept her too busy.  Even so, she found herself oddly happy when she put her phone back in its belt holster.  This would be fun, something nice and pleasant.  She deserved a break.  

…

                _Five days later _

_                Central Prison _

_                Raleigh, North Carolina _

It was time now.  All his careful plans had been put into action.  They'd sentenced him to life in prison, never to be paroled.  Well, they'd made a classic mistake in counting him out.  He wasn't down for the count and he wasn't staying in prison for the rest of his life.  

                Dave McCracken had been in prison for five years, and after the first fitful year he'd seemed to adjust pretty well.  They'd given him a job in the prison laundry.  As time went on and he seemed to be less and less of a problem, he'd been allowed to truck the sheets in big carts out to the delivery van.   Yeah, some privilege, pushing carts that weighed a couple hundred pounds out to the loading dock.  But it gave him a brief opportunity to be outside, and that was cool.  When he'd realized that he had access to the actual truck they loaded the sheets in, it had seemed much better.  At first, he'd watched and waited, scanning out his opportunity.  

                It had proved to be much simpler than he'd thought.  The guy who drove the sheets off was an older guy.  Taking him down would be no problem at all.  The problem was that they checked the van every time when it drove out the gate.  The guy had to show ID or something; McCracken had been able to see it from the loading dock.  Usually a guard would holler at him to get his cart back to the laundry, but he'd noticed that a few of them didn't always do their jobs.  That would prove to be his way out.  

                He pushed the laundry cart out through the double doors and out to the loading dock.  The delivery guy lounged in the driver's seat of the van, waiting.  Course, he wouldn't help; loading the van was prisoner work, not for the likes of a free man.  That was just fine.  Dave McCracken would be a free man himself pretty soon.  

                The hydraulic lift hissed as it lifted the heavy laundry cart into the back of the van.  Once that was done, McCracken ran back to the loading dock and opened the door, letting it shut behind him.  The electronic systems would indicate that Inmate McCracken had opened the door and gone back inside.  This was as it had been every day for the past two years, except Sunday when he wasn't expected to work.  

                McCracken watched the guy carefully through the back open doors of the van.  If the dude had been smart, McCracken thought, he'd have gotten his ass out of the van and shut the doors while he could still see the inmate.  But noooo, the guy had to have his cigarette and listen to the radio.  The guy did the same thing, every time.  McCracken had watched this for months.  Dude was lazy.  But hey, that was good, it was his ticket out of here.  As quietly as he could, McCracken crept up on the van.   The delivery guy lolled in his seat and listened to the ball game on the radio.  Carefully, he put one foot on the van and crept into the metal recesses as quietly as he could.  It took only a moment to crawl under the heavy steel cart.  

                Once the guy's cigarette was done, he got out of the van, as he always did, and headed around to lock the back doors.  He did not notice McCracken crouched under the steel cart.  The van started and drove forward to the gates of the prison.  At the gates, it stopped.  Here McCracken tensed.  The guards on the afternoon shift had been on the lazy side themselves.  According to the institution rules, they were supposed to open up the doors and check the van out.  They rarely did, so long as the computer system told them that the door had been opened and then shut.  He wasn't disappointed; they simply chatted with the driver for a little bit and then went back to their hut to open the door. 

                Lazy asses.  He was gonna be free because of their lazy asses.  He grinned under the heavy cart as he heard the guards chitchatting with the delivery guy for a little bit. Then the sound of the gate sliding open.  And the van drove forward.  He grinned.  He'd done it.  And it was so damn _simple.  _

The van proceeded down the road, outside of the prison.  McCracken squirmed out from under the laundry cart.  There was only a space of about six inches between the bottom of the cart and the ground, and to do so took some wiggling.  But the noises and creaking of the van covered the sound of his scrambling free.   From inside his waistband he took a flat piece of metal.  Once, it had been part of the handle to one of the laundry carts.  He'd smuggled it back to his cell and sharpened it on the concrete floor.    

                The driver saw something in the mirror as Dave McCracken rose to his feet, his homemade knife in hand.  He pulled over swiftly, but McCracken was determined.  He hadn't gone through all this to stay free for only fifteen freakin' minutes.  

                The van pulled over suddenly on the road, parking askew.    For a moment there was an anguished scream from the open driver's window.  Then a heavy thud, then silence.   The van started up again and rolled confidently forward.  It picked up the highway and headed north.  

                Behind the wheel of the van, wearing the delivery guy's uniform, Dave McCracken reached across the seat for a battered piece of newsprint.  He'd saved it from his trial.  This piece of newsprint had been with him for years, either tucked away in his cell or on his person, whenever he'd been moved.  The yellowing headline read _FBI Agent testifies that behavioral evidence suggests McCracken guilty.  _There was a barely visible picture of a woman sitting on the witness stand, while he sat at the defense table and glowered at her.  The picture had a caption as well.  It read:  _Special Agent Clarice Starling testifies in the trial of David McCracken.  Agent Starling arrested Mr. McCracken, suspected of several stranglings in the Winston-Salem area, when he attacked a sixth victim._

That had been five years ago.  Five years in prison.  Lousy walls, lockdown, and rotten guards.  And now there was gonna be some payback for the bitch.  Payback's a bitch, he thought, and chuckled.  Payback was a bitch and so was she.   Now that was appropriate.  He'd teach Special Agent Clarice Starling a thing or two about behavioral science.  He'd teach her to behave right proper.  The thought made him chuckle again.   

                Dave McCracken chuckled and glanced back at the cooling corpse of the delivery guy where he'd tossed it on the cart.  Blood from his slashed throat was red, a surprising slash of crimson against the bright white of the sheets.  He would need another car, but he could arrange that.  First he needed to put some distance between him and the prison.  Then he'd steal a car or something.  Clothes, cash, cars – he had some needs, but the first was distance.  

                The interstate was maybe twenty minutes away, and McCracken tuned in a rock station.  He sang along with it, banging the steering wheel in time.  Things were looking up for him already.  He'd gotten a break.  Now he'd do some breaking himself.


	2. Good Times

                Clarice Starling was a warrior.  So Dr. Lecter had called her in his letter; so would the most basic reading of her record reveal.  She had dealt with armed gangs.  She had dealt with serial killers.  In those situations, dealing with vicious killers, Clarice was strong and capable.   With her .45 at her hip, she was ready to deal with the worst, most vicious that humanity had to offer.  

                But now, here, in an inexpensive but decent hotel in Washington, DC, now here was a tougher situation.  Sixty high school kids from West Virginia, all running up and down the halls, creating havoc, and Clarice had to find her niece and get an adult.  The kids appeared to be cutting loose.  Only two teachers were around to chaperone the whole thing, and they weren't doing terribly well at keeping order.  

                "_Aunt Clariiiiice!"  _  

                Clarice turned to see her niece down the hall, waving excitedly.  She ran up to Clarice at full tilt.  

                "Aunt Clarice, there yew are.  How _are _yew?"  

                "I'm good, Charlene," Clarice smiled, and took the sight of her niece.  The last time she'd seen Charlene had been years ago.  She'd been four then, running around the dorm.  Now she was fifteen, roughly Clarice's own height, with the same brown hair and blue eyes.  The resemblance was clear enough.  

                "Well, there ain't no activities planned for today.  We're all supposed to settle in and _rest."  _Her eyes sparkled.  "So whatever you want to do is fine."  

                "I spose…_suppose," _Clarice said, "I ought to let one of the adults know I'm taking you."  Charlene nodded.  

                "Mrs. Fontelier is just down thar," she said, pointing.  Clarice winced.  'Delia liked to tease her about her accent; God only knew what she'd think of Charlene. Clarice walked down the hall and tried to attract the woman's attention.  She was older and gray-haired; a lifelong teacher, no doubt.  

                "Hi," she smiled.  "I'm Special Agent Clarice Starling, and I'm with the FBI."  

                "FBI? Oh my, what are you here for?"  The woman seemed alarmed, as if her charges had committed federal crimes while in her care.  

                "Oh, it's nothing wrong.  Actually my niece is here.  Charlene Stenson.  I live here in DC, and I wanted to know what I'd need to do to take her with me.  Just for a bit, you know."  

                The woman eyed her dubiously.  "Does she know you're coming?"  Her own drawl was as strong as Charlene's. 

                "She sure does," Clarice said.  "Here, I'll get her if'n you want."  Realizing what she'd said, she winced.  

Charlene verified that she was, in fact, Clarice Starling's niece, and the two went out to the Mustang parked outside.  Charlene oohed and aahed at the sight of the car and decided it was 'right fancy'.  Clarice snorted.  Then again, Charlene was used to pickup trucks.  

                "It's so good to see _yew_," Charlene burbled.  "Wow, DC is a real big city."  

                Clarice thought for a moment about what Charlene might make of New York or Chicago, where they had skyscrapers.  DC looked like a small town compared to those.  

                "So, what do you want to do?" Clarice asked, and tried to remember what she had done for fun at Charlene's age.  There wasn't much; the dour Lutheran orphanage that had raised her had believed in feeding, sheltering, and clothing her, and that was it.  "Six Flags America, maybe?"  

                "What's that?"  

                "An amusement park," Clarice said.  

                "Okay," Charlene said.  "That sounds great.  What about you, Aunt Clarice, whatchew wanna do?"

                _What do I do? _Clarice Starling wondered.  _I arrest people and shoot at them sometimes.  Then I come home and 'Delia bosses me around in the kitchen.  Quite a life I've built for myself.  But I have no idea at all how to entertain a fifteen-year-old.  _

"Up to you," she covered.  "You're the guest, after all.  Let's just try and have a good time."  

                Ardelia was already home, cooking up quite a spread.  After extensive observation of Clarice, it was her opinion that Starlings did not eat well, and it was Ardelia Mapp's mission in life to see that this was changed.  Charlene was quite appreciative of the meal, even though Ardelia's cooking was a lot spicier than she was used to.  

                _Thank God she's got manners, _Clarice thought, and automatically felt guilty.  Just because Charlene was thoroughly soaked in the origins Clarice had tried to hide didn't mean she was a bad kid.  She had manners.  She could be taught.  

                "Well, ain't this quite a meal," Charlene said.  "Thank you, Miz Mapp."  

                Ardelia Mapp blinked at the young woman and then at Clarice.  Then she cracked up.  

                "Miz Mapp," she snorted through her laughter.  "Just call me Ardelia, that'll be fine.  God, I thought my grandmother was around somewhere."  

                "All raht," Charlene said, eyes wide as if she feared she had offended such sophisticates.  

                Clarice had a better time than she thought she would at Six Flags.  It was a bright sunny day, and the park was a pleasant little wonderland to spend some time in. They headed around the park, three women in T-shirts and shorts, and took in the rides and the midway.  The crowds weren't too bad, all things considered.  There were lines for the most popular rides, but the park was clean and neat and carefree.  For a woman who made her living catching people who would just as soon kill you as look at you, this was remarkably relaxing.   There were plenty of roller coasters to ride, and 'Delia dared her to go on just about all of them.  Charlene seemed to be having a great time, and that set her mind at ease a bit.  Course, she probably hadn't seen such things in rural West Virginia—

                _Oh, stop, Clarice, _she scolded herself.   

                But it was a pleasant time.   The summer day grew hot and languid, so they went over to the water park and changed into bathing suits.  They rode the waterslides and went in the wave pool.  While they were bobbing in the pool, waiting for artificially made waves to wash over them, Clarice asked her niece how school was going.  

                Charlene grimaced, expecting the question from an adult.  "School's all right," she said.  

                "Any thought to what you'll do after school?" Clarice prodded.  

                Charlene bobbed a bit and shrugged.  "Dunno," she said.  "Git a job, probably.  That's bout what everbody does."  

                "You could go to college," Clarice pointed out.  

                Charlene shrugged, suddenly seeming older than her years.  "Ain't got the money for that," she said.  

                "There are scholarships and stuff you can get," Clarice pointed out.  "_I _went to college, you know."  Then it was rushing out of her mouth before she even knew what she was saying.   "I can help if you need money, you know."  Well, hell, what _else _was she going to spend her money on?

                She saw Charlene's jaw set a bit and knew immediately what it was.  The slightly bitter pride of the working class. The coin without which many purses would be entirely empty.  Clarice knew it well. Charlene wouldn't want her help any more than she'd want anyone else's.  Standing on one's own two feet was a virtue highly espoused in West Virginia.

                "That's…a long way off, Aunt Clarice," Charlene said.  "Ain't no sense worrying about it now."  

                "Well…just…think about it, okay?"  

                "Awl raht," Charlene agreed.

                Other than that, the day was great.  Thrill rides, greasy but tasty good, and sun.  Charlene seemed to be having a great time, and Clarice found herself feeling happy.  Days like this didn't come often for her.  The roller coasters proved to have a slightly scarier tinge when you rode them after dark.  They rode the rides and toured the park, and barely realized the time until the loudspeakers began announcing that the park would be closing in fifteen minutes, and would they please gather up their belonging and depart through the gates, and as always, thank you for visiting Six Flags America.  

                They were all tired on the ride home after having spent the day ambling around the park, and Clarice looked at the clock and gagged.  She'd have to call the hotel and make sure Charlene didn't get in trouble.  Back at the duplex, she reached Mrs. Fontelier again, who seemed archly displeased.  Clarice told her that it wasn't Charlene's fault and that she took full responsibility.  Mrs. Fontelier must've been one of those tough teachers, Clarice thought; she, a thirty-three-year-old FBI agent, found herself feeling like a trembling sophomore.   It wasn't that the teacher yelled at her.  There was simply a massive sense of _Miss Starling, we do not approve _floating back through the telephone line.  

                Clarice did manage to wangle permission to let her niece stay the night.  She supposed Mrs. Fontelier would make her write _I will not keep my niece out late _a hundred times tomorrow.  But she would deal with that.  After a late dinner, it took little time to make up the couch for Charlene, who expressed profuse gratitude for the day at the park.  

                Clarice Starling lay back in her bed, staring at the ceiling.  She was tired, but happy all the same.  This had been fun.  It had been a good day.  

                __

  


	3. Enter the Wolf

                _Author's note:  Yes, that was a nice and happy chapter last time, wasn't it?  Well I decided to cut Clarice a break.  Said break has run out though.  So here we are…on with the show. LoT, you asked for bad guys, and you have gotten your wish. _

The morning light entering Clarice's bedroom window forced her to rouse out of her bed.  She grunted, not wanting to give up the warmth and comfort of her bed.  But it was time, and she had to drop Charlene back at the hotel before heading in to work.  Once she was out of this one meeting, she would be able to meet Charlene again for something else.  

                She threw on a robe over the T-shirt she'd worn to bed and ambled out into the living room where her niece slept on the couch.  When she tried to wake Charlene, the girl simply groaned and tried to hide under her pillow and blanket.  Clarice grinned.  

                "C'mon," she said.  "I gotta get you back to the hotel before your teacher comes and whomps my butt."  

                Charlene grumbled something unintelligible, but opened her eyes owlishly and let her aunt steer her to the shower.  About ten minutes later, she got out and left the shower to Clarice.  Clarice thought for a minute: she'd grab the kid some breakfast at Mickey D's or something.  

                While Clarice showered, Charlene Stenson opened the front door of the duplex and walked out into the sunshine of another nice Virginia day.  She was enjoying the chance to visit with her aunt; she hadn't seen her in years.  Her mom had occasionally voiced the idea that Aunt Clarice thought she was better than her kin, but it didn't seem that way to her.  Aunt Clarice had nagged her about college, but that was sort of understandable.  

                Charlene Stenson was not stupid, and she knew that college would be the best choice.  The problem was in getting there – it was probably way cheaper when Aunt Clarice had gone.  They said a college degree cost a hundred thousand dollars these days at some places.  Where the hell was she supposed to come up with that sort of money?  

                There was a jogger heading up the street towards her, and Charlene looked briefly at him.  Across the street from Aunt Clarice's duplex was a dingy gray van that wouldn't have been out of place in the small West Virginia town she lived in.  Other than that, the cars round here were right fancy.   Aunt Clarice's Mustang was parked in last in the driveway.  Miz Mapp—_Ardelia_, Charlene reminded herself, she'd said she wanted to be called _Ardelia_, even though you were supposed to call adults you didn't know by their proper names—her little red car was there in front of it.  Japanese, Charlene supposed.  Mitsubishi, but it didn't have what model it was on the back of the car.  

                This was sure a nice place, she thought, but she had no idea how she might ever get there.  No, she thought, it was more likely she would follow her mother.  Get a job that paid wages and start earning some money.  Stand on her own two feet, that was right.  She didn't want to be a drag on anyone. Her momma might not have no college degree on her wall but she had worked all her life, ever since Charlene had been a little girl.  

                The jogger was closer.  He was bald and had a goatee.  He grinned at Charlene and waved.  She waved back and decided to have a look at Aunt Clarice's Mustang.  The love of fast automobiles ran deep in Starling veins, and Charlene took careful, critical notice of the tires.  She opened the door so she could pop the hood and examine the engine.  As she passed around the back, she noticed it was a Roush Mustang and nodded.  Now _that _was right impressive.  

                Then, suddenly, there was a sound behind her.  She turned, expecting it to be Aunt Clarice or maybe Miz Ma—Ardelia.  But it was the jogger, who had detoured up the lawn and jogged up the driveway.  Charlene frowned at him.  

                "Hey," she said.  "Whatcha doin here? This is private property."  

                "Oh, actually, I just wanted to ask you something about the car," he said.  "Killer car, ain't it?  Just wondering if it was for sale."  

                "I don't think so," Charlene said, her blue eyes distrustful on his.  "It's mah aunt's car.  She'll be out in a minute.  You'd have to ask her."  

                Dave McCracken nodded.  "Fine," he said, and then took a step closer.  This was going to have to go _very carefully.  He'd planned to wait her and catch the Starling bitch when she got out and then have some fun with her, but this looked like it might be __way more fun.  The little bitch was obviously Starling's niece; she sure as hell didn't look like she was Mapp's.  This would teach Starling a __very very valuable lesson about who to screw with.  _

                He grabbed her arm with his left hand and reached back to the back of his shorts with his right.  

                "Hey!" Charlene said.  "What the hell you think you're doing?" 

                McCracken produced a knife.  "Listen up, sweet thing," he said.  "You're gonna come with me.  Behave and I won't cut you."  

                Charlene let out a piercing scream.  Dave McCracken twisted her arm around, maneuvering her against the Mustang, slamming her on the trunk of the car like a cop arresting a suspect.  That made him grin.  Then he re-firmed up his grip, pinning her arm behind her, holding the knife up to her throat.   

                "Now listen," he hissed.  "You're not a dumb chick.  Be smart and you'll be OK."  

                Her arm was ice in his grip where he held it.  The point of the blade pressed against the soft skin of her throat.  She felt her pulse beat and quivered.  Better to do what he said for now, wait until he put the knife down.  Was he gonna kill her?  Who the hell was he?  How could this happen to her?    

                "Now walk.  And be quiet.  Over to the van."  

                Terrified, breathing shakily, Charlene complied, walking quietly down the driveway.  Ahead was the dirty gray van.  North Carolina plates, she noticed.  She carefully memorized the license number.  The guy would have to put the knife away to open the door.  That would be her chance.  She'd kick him backwards and run like hell back to the house.  

                Instead, he made her open the door herself with her left hand.  She felt tears start, knowing that if he got her away she might never survive.  But the edge of the blade was right there, caressing her throat obscenely.  The inside of the van smelled like a trash barrel and she winced.  

                He forced her across the van, where a pair of handcuffs was attached to the wall.  McCracken clapped one on her wrist and told her to sit down and shut up.  Shakily, she complied. The van seemed like the rolling den of some sort of animal.   On the floor, not far away from where she sat, was a suspicious looking dark stain.  

                She sat in the dirty back of the van, her arm over her head, and tried to look around.  The van had no windows.  No one would see her here.  No one would help her.  But she had to do _something.  _

Outside, across the street, she heard Aunt Clarice.  "Charlene?  Charlene, you out here?  Where the hell'd you go?  I gotta get you back to the hotel."  

                That broke the dam of fear that had held her thus far.  Charlene Stenson tried to turn and took a deep breath.  

                "AUNT CLARICE, OVER HERE!" she screamed.  From the driver's seat, Dave McCracken scowled and turned around, his arm raised to smack her one.  Charlene raised her one free arm to block him.  

                "IN THE VAN, AUNT CLARICE!  SHOOT HIM!  SHOOT THE BASTID!" she shrieked, and then McCracken did smack her one, a hard, vicious blow across her mouth.  She felt her lips tear on her teeth and tasted blood.  The back of her head collided with the metal wall of the van and she saw stars.  Then the nasty growl of the engine started, and then they were away.  

…

                Clarice Starling was getting dressed when she heard the first scream. Today was an office day, so it meant dressing nice:  a dark blue pants suit, her new pumps, and a shell.  She was buckling on her holster when she heard Charlene shriek.  

                "Charlene?" she asked, and headed out of her bedroom.  No Charlene in the living room.  The scream had sounded like it came outside.  Was she looking at the car?  Probably.  Maybe she had banged herself with the car door or something.  

                Then came the rumble of a male voice.  Clarice couldn't make out what it had said, but she didn't care for the idea of some guy in her driveway, especially with her young niece around.  With a sudden apprehension settling in her stomach, she grabbed her .45 and began striding towards the door.   

                Out in the driveway was nothing.  Everything was just as it should have been in her quiet little piece of suburban paradise.  A dog barked.  The wind blew.  There was a van across the street that she didn't recognize.  A dingy gray van pretty coated with road-dust.  Damn thing looked like someone had driven in from Arizona in it.  Clarice's eyes narrowed.  

                "Charlene?" she called.  

                There was no reply. 

                "Charlene, you out here?" she tried again.  "Where'd the hell you go?  I gotta get you back to the hotel."  

                At first, there was nothing.  Then, a high-pitched, terrified scream she could barely place from across the street.  

                "Aunt Clarice, over here!  In the van, Aunt Clarice! Shoot him! Shoot the bastid!"  

                Clarice Starling did not have all the pieces, but she had enough to realize what the hell was going on.  Attempted kidnapping.  Her heart rate larruped up from sixty beats per minute to a hundred and twenty in the course of a few seconds.  Adrenalin dumped into her system.  Her eyes widened.  

                Automatically, her hand went for the .45 at her side and she began to run towards the van.  The engine started and the van lurched into gear.  Clarice stopped, standing in a perfect Weaver stance, and brought the gun up to bear.  Her eye saw; her hand tracked.  Her brain made a decision, and she fired at the left rear tire of the van.  She missed by a few inches; the dented chrome bumper developed a large hole.  

                Clarice ran forward.  "FBI! STOP THE VAN!"  she screamed.  The driver of the van did not stop.  Rather, he slammed down the accelerator.  The van raced towards the end of the street.  Clarice stopped again, bringing up the pistol again to shoot.  

                But she didn't know where Charlene was in the van, and at this range, she couldn't be sure she wouldn't hit her.  Clarice turned and ran back to her house, meaning to get in the car and give chase.  Ardelia stood in her door, staring blankly at Clarice.  

                "Reesey, what the hell you doing shooting in the front yard?" she asked blankly.  

                "Call the cops," Clarice yelled.  "Some psycho got Charlene!"  

                The color dropped out of Ardelia's face, leaving it an ashy gray.  Both women were trained FBI agents, and knew better than to sit around and bawl when things went to shit quickly, as they had.  But from Ardelia's face, Clarice could tell she felt the same thing Clarice did herself:  _This can't be happening.  To me?  To us?  No way.  _

But to her credit, Ardelia dived back into her half of the duplex and grabbed the phone, swiftly punching up 911.  Clarice jumped into the Mustang and revved the engine with a mighty roar.  She dropped it into reverse and boomed out of the driveway.   

                She made it up the quiet residential street in a matter of just a few seconds.  Her head whipped back and forth.  The van was disappearing towards the highway at a high rate of speed.  Clarice slammed down the accelerator herself.  All she had to do was get close enough to shoot.  She had practiced shooting left-handed.   It was tough and she had trouble with it, but if she got close enough she could take out the tire.  

                The Mustang closed the distance swiftly.  

                "Hang on, Charlene, I'm comin," Clarice said tightly to herself.  

                A hundred yards.  Ninety.  Eighty.  Getting closer.  If she could fire right-handed she'd have taken the shot, but firing through a windshield would've screwed it up anyway – no telling where that bullet might go after having to crack through the glass.  Damn, next time she'd get one of those English cars with the wheel on the right.   

                Heading up the street on the other side was a school bus.  Clarice noticed it and kept her eyes on the back end of the van.  _Just what I need.  A bunch of schoolkids.  _The nose of the Mustang crept closer to the van.  

                Then suddenly she noticed the yellow turn-signal light on the bus was flashing, and the school bus full of kids was lumbering into her lane, turning left slowly and leisurely.  Clarice's eyes widened and her foot slammed on the brake.  The bus driver gave her a dirty look.  The bus itself meandered slowly, taking the turn leisurely so as to keep its charges safe.  

                The Mustang stalled out as it came to a stop.  Clarice punched the clutch down viciously and revved the engine.  She pounded the wheel with her gun hand.  When the bus was _finally _out of the way, she slammed down the gas and started anew.   Then she pulled over swiftly, horror leaking slowly into her gut as she realized what had happened.  

                The van was gone.  Disappeared.  And she didn't know which side of the highway it was on.  

                Clarice Starling got back in the car, defeat and horror filling her, and she felt tears prick her eyes for the first time in years.  Her sister had trusted her.  Her niece had come up to see her.  And some psycho had grabbed her out of Clarice's driveway just as neat as you please.  She drove back  to the duplex slowly, her eyes wide with horror, already hearing the sirens of approaching police cruisers.  'Delia stood there in the driveway, cordless phone in hand.  She looked equally horrified.  

                Two police cruisers came screaming around the corner as Clarice pulled into the driveway and shut off the engine.  They pulled up at the curb and disgorged a few local boys.  Clarice could hear voices, the metallic chattering of police radios, and the slamming of car doors.  The symphony of tragedy's aftermath.  

                One of them came up and identified himself to her as Officer Munson.  He began to ask her a few questions she already knew he would ask.  Her voice sounded vague and lost to her, and she was only peripherally aware of answering at all.  Some psycho had invaded her home and kidnapped her niece.  Her attempts to make the world safe had met with complete failure. The hand of evil had swiped aside all her precautions and swiped her fifteen-year-old niece with no more difficulty than someone grabbing a set of car keys.  She'd been trusted to keep a lamb safe…and she had failed.

                For the first time in many years, tears of shock and pain began to prick at Clarice Starling's eyes.


	4. On the Phone

                _Author's note:  Here we are, a chapter before I leave for a week. _

Things came to a head quickly.  Once the situation had been explained and the necessary evidence taken, the FBI moved swiftly.  The local authorities were willing to surrender jurisdiction without much fuss, and that Clarice found oddly comforting.  She would be able to help in the hunt for her niece's kidnapper.  

                She'd gone in to work, feeling an odd sense of vertigo.  Everything at the FBI was much the same as it had been yesterday; the same buildings, the same people, the same computers.  But now the world had been fundamentally changed.  Some lunatic had kidnapped her niece.  

                Clarice's car was over at the evidence labs; she'd cadged a ride from 'Delia in to work.  She sat down at her office and stared at the flying-toaster screen-saver, wondering what the hell she was supposed to be doing.  Had anyone called Patty?  Was that her responsibility?  Clarice found herself dreading that, but she would do it if no one else had.  But still, the sheer, unmitigated horror of having to tell her younger sister that some crazyman had stolen her only daughter right out of Clarice's driveway tore at her.  

                The phone rang.  Clarice stared at it with dread-rimmed eyes for a moment or two and steeled herself.  _Agent Starling, we've found a body…we want you to come identify it.   _A lump rose in her throat and she forced it back down.  It took rather more will than she expected to grab the phone and lift it to her ear. 

                "Starling," she husked powerlessly. 

                "Starling, it's Crawford."  

                "Do we have anything?  We have to find her.  The odds of her…safe return drop a lot within three hours."  

                Crawford stopped and sighed.  He knew as well as she did what she was referring to.   

                "We managed to get a print off your car's hood.  Where he…must've…pinned her down."  

                Clarice thought about her innocent little niece slammed against the hood of her car by some sort of knife-wielding monster and found herself cringing.  _Thank you, Mr. Tactful.  _  But no. Crawford was an ally.  

                "Starling, it's Dave McCracken.  You remember him?"  

                Tears sprang to Clarice's eyes.  Yes, this _was _a personal score.  

                "Yes, sir, I do," she whispered.  "The Winston-Salem strangler."  

                "Yep.  I just got off the phone with the state boys in Raleigh.  Seems that McCracken escaped two days ago."  

                "So what now?" she asked.  

                "Starling, we're doing everything we can."  His voice seemed slow and logy.  Crazily, Starling found herself thinking he sounded like Ben Stein.  Selling Visine, maybe.  _Dry, itchy eyes…  _He needed to get off his ass and find Charlene.

Dave McCracken.  The self-employed electrician and part-time strangler.  He had been one of Clarice's mid-career cases; a rare bone thrown to her in the midst of a drowning career.  But she'd gotten him.  And now, five years later, he had her niece as revenge.  

                "We gotta find him," Clarice said.  She felt tears beginning to start and forced them away.  She'd be damned if she cried on the phone with Crawford.  

                "We're working on it.  We'll find him, Starling."  

                "I know," Clarice whispered.  

                "Minute I hear anything I'll let you know."  

                "Thank you, sir," she said.  

                The phone clicked off and Clarice hung up.  She sat with her head in her hands for several minutes.  Then it rang again.  She picked it up. 

                "Starling," she said.  

                "Clarice?  It's Patty."  The voice on the other end of the line was choked with tears.  "What happened?  What happened to Charlene?"  

                The tears Clarice had fought back with Crawford on the line came back and she couldn't fight them.  

                "Some guy I put away escaped from prison," Clarice began.  "And he…he…he must've dropped by my house and seen her there."  

                "My _baby,_" Patty began to sob openly.  "You mean some crazyman's got my baby?"  

                "Patty," Clarice began, trying to be strong, "we're doing everything we can."  No.  That was what Crawford had said and it was wrong.  Patty Starling Stenson might be white trash, but she deserved better.  

                "Clarice, you gotta do something," Patty wept.  "She's only fifteen.  She's never hurt another living soul.  She ain't done nothing to deserve this."   Her sister's sobs echoed openly up the line, a woman hit by one of the greatest and cruelest shocks that life can deliver.  

                "I know," Clarice said.  Her throat closed down to a tiny, bare opening.  She clamped her eyes shut.  _Be the strong one.  You always have been.  She needs you to be.  **Both **of them need you to be.  _

"Patty," she said, sounding a bit more like herself, "now listen to me.  Your big sister's gonna fix thangs.  I promise you….I _swear _to you…I will not rest and I will not tire until she is found and safe."  

                "Y'say that," Patty said, "but what if she's already dead?"  

                "She _ain't,_" Clarice vowed, hoping like hell she'd believe it herself.  "He ain't gonna kill her.  I won't let him.  I'll hunt him down."  

                "Clarice, please, you gotta do something," Patty cried back.   "David 'n me, we're getting on a plane and comin' out there.  The plant said Ah could have the time off if'n I needed it."  

                "OK," Clarice said.  "You do that, Patty.  I'll see you when you get here."  

                She got off the phone with her sister and then simply crumbled.  She pillowed her head on her forearms, bent over the desk, and simply began to bawl.  She wasn't really sure how long it was that she was there like that, hidden away behind her blackout curtains, crying like a toddler.  She cried out her rage and her pain.   _Get it out so you can function, _some tiny corner of her mind that wasn't reeling with shock advised her.  She tried to call up Dave McCracken's file off VICAP, but the monitor simply blurred into a prismatic image through her tears.  So she lowered her head again and cried.    

                And the phone was ringing _again.  _ 

                Clarice Starling stared with teary eyes at the blurry image of the receiver.  She took a Kleenex and dabbed at her eyes.  Feeling empty and ill-equipped, she picked up the receiver a third time.  

                "Starling," she said in a hoarse whisper.  

                There was just a moment of silence, and she heard the other person on the end of the line take in a deep breath.  The voice was male, metallic, and quite cultured and calm.  A far cry from the weeping lump of protoplasm called Clarice Starling. 

                "Is this Clarice?  Well, hello, Clarice."  

                Clarice's pounding heart dropped into her stomach.  _Him?  _Was this a joke?  Or was this National Let's Traumatize Clarce Starling Day?  

                "Dr. Lecter?" she asked powerlessly.  

                "The same," he said calmly.  "Clarice, I understand from CNN.com's website that you've experienced a trauma of sorts.  It made the front page, as it were."  

                "Dr. Lecter, I don't have the time for this," Clarice said powerlessly.  

                "I know, it's got to be _very _traumatic for you.  I assure you though, I didn't call to add to your pain."  

                Clarice took in a long, shaky breath and wondered what the hell she was supposed to say or do now.  

                Dr. Lecter continued for her.  "By the way, don't bother with the trace.  You may trace it if you want, but I'll save you some time.  In a few hours I'll be hundreds of miles away."  

                "I do not need you making things harder for me," she whispered.  

                "Harder?  Not at all, Clarice.  I have tickets on two flights which will leave shortly.  Which one I take depends on you."  

                She said nothing.  He continued.  

                "You told me not in a thousand years, Clarice, that you'd never go with me.  That was your decision.  However, perhaps we could come to some sort of…an agreement.  Now I don't share your moral disapproval of Mr. McCracken's hobbies, but I do agree with you that Charlene was innocent.  If he had a complaint with you he should've taken it up with you directly."  

                "Why are you calling, then?" she asked.  "Dr. Lecter…please.  If you have any sense of compassion, you wouldn't torture me like this."  

                "Clarice, Clarice.  Hear me out, will you?  Mr. McCracken was a relatively smart boy.  Hard to catch.  He killed three of his victims while you were hunting him.  Poor little Charlene, you want her alive, don't you?  Tick-tock, tick-tock."  

                Clarice felt tears starting and suddenly felt a lot more sympathy with Senator Ruth Martin than she'd ever felt before.  

                "I'm calling with an offer, Clarice.  I've helped you catch killers before; I can help you again.  In return, I'll ask that you cease your pursuit of me.  You can keep it up for appearances' sake, but if you won't be with me, at least let me keep my freedom.  In return for that, I'll help you find Mr. McCracken.  _And _your little niece Charlene."  

                Her duty versus her need.   To catch one killer, let another go free.  It strove against every bone in Clarice's body to think of letting Dr. Lecter go.  For Clarice, it had always been vital to her to make the team, be chosen, not sent away. The thought of deliberately spinning her wheels on the Lecter investigation made her rebel.  That wasn't competition.  That was a violation of the rules of the game.  

                But oh God, what if Dr. Lecter was telling the truth?  Could she really take the chance?  Every mind on the case might help.  The thought of Charlene's horribly mutilated body arose in her mind and she had to force it away.  The man on the other end of the line was a monster, but he was a damn smart monster, and what if his help made the difference between Charlene living or dying?  

                Then she thought about what would happen if it was ever found out.  She'd managed to get reinstated after Verger and Krendler had died.  If they found out she'd conspired with Dr. Lecter, they'd fire her for that alone.  She would be expelled.  She hadn't worked so hard for it to end like this.  

                But then the price of her pride might be Charlene's life.  What an impossible choice.  

                "Clarice, they'll be boarding the two flights in a few moments.  One will take me far, far away and you'll never see me again.  The other will bring me to you.  Never mind where or how; that's my concern.  I'll need a copy of Mr. McCracken's VICAP file and a copy of whatever crime-scene reports Jacky-boy has been conjuring up.  It's all on computer these days, and no one will think anything of you printing off a copy.  I'll call you once I've arrived with instructions on how to deliver it."  

                "Dr. Lecter," she whispered, "can you really help?"  

                "I can't promise results written in stone, Clarice, any more than you can promise results written in stone to your sister.   What I can promise you is that I will try and that I will be completely honest and forthright with you regarding my conclusions.  No games, Clarice, all straight dealing.  I'll give you my thoughts, you give me my continued freedom."

                Of all the times Clarice Starling could have had to deal with something like this, now had to be the worst.  She felt empty, emotionally drained, completely at the end of her rope.  The fact that she distantly knew this, and knew Dr. Lecter would too, only made it worse.  It was either let Dr. Lecter walk or risk Charlene's death.  

                And what if it wasn't necessary?  What if they found McCracken or he let Charlene go?  Once Clarice Starling gave her word, it was paramount to keep it.  She would sooner die than lie.  If she gave her word to the killer that he could remain free, she would be honor-bound to keep that, and the devil take the consequences.   Even if a squad of FBI agents liberated Charlene with no help at all from Hannibal Lecter. 

                "What do you say, Clarice?  For old time's sake, hmmm?"  

                "I can't just let you go," she whispered, and wondered just what she meant by that.  

                "Oh, Clarice, feel free to go through the motions.  I understand, Jacky-boy will expect to see it.  Just don't actually follow through on it.  Noodle around a bit, you know.  Spin your wheels.  You'll learn."  

                Clarice let out a sigh and stared at the battleship-gray wall, as if it might offer some advice.  

                "Decision time, Clarice.  Do you want my help or not?  Little Charlene is waiting for your answer."  

                Charlene.  Her sister.  Her career.  Her duty.  They all floated around her, all demanding her attention, as if she was being eaten by a thousand small piranhas all taking just one bite.   Whatever choice she made, something would be coming back with small, painful teeth for seconds.

                But she had to give an answer.  Either she'd be risking her niece's life or she'd be risking her own integrity and honor.  No easy decision either way.  She wanted her niece back, of course, but she also wanted her good name.  It had been a long and difficult fight to get it back.  All the choices were painful.  But she had to pick one.

                Clarice Starling clamped her eyes shut against another freshet of tears, sucked in a deep breath, and whispered one word into the telephone receiver.  

                "Very well," Dr. Hannibal Lecter said in response, and hung up the phone.  The dial tone moaned at Clarice for a few seconds before she hung up herself. 


	5. Pain and Envelopes

_Author's note:  A bit on the short side, but here we are with some angst._

                The abandoned factory was quiet.  Machines stood unused and still, dust motes dancing in the air around them.  The only sound echoing off the concrete and steel walls was the sobbing of a young girl.  

                Charlene Stenson knelt in the basement of the factory, dressed only in a dirty T-shirt.  One hand was cuffed awkwardly to a pipe on the wall behind her.  Her bare legs were curled under her, dirt on her knees and calves.  Her captor had left her down here for several hours, all alone in the dark.  She thought there were rats in the building.  She could hear them scurrying and squeaking in the walls.  She _hated _rats.  If one ran over her, with her cuffed like this, she didn't know what she would do.  

                Her lip was swelling where he'd hit her.  She could feel the wound with her tongue and hated it.  Other than that, though, he hadn't hurt her…or done anything else.  He'd taken her clothes away and cuffed her to the pipe and pretty much left her down here with the rats.   She hadn't eaten much since he had captured her, but she wasn't that hungry.  Terror and fear stole her appetite.  That was just as well, as providing food for his captive was not terribly high on Dave McCracken's list of priorities.  

                She heard a heavy metal door swing open and cringed.  Aunt Clarice wouldn't cringe, she supposed; Aunt Clarice would stand up tall and spit in his eye.  But she wasn't Aunt Clarice and she was afraid.  

                Dave McCracken stood silhouetted in the doorway, a stereo tape recorder in his hand, a cruel smile wreathing his face.  Broken teeth glittered at her.  He strode in and placed the boom box not far from her.  He inserted a cassette and then turned to her.

                "Hey, baby," he said.  "You and me are gonna make some sweet music."  

                Charlene cowered and held up her one free arm in order to defend herself.  McCracken threw back his head and laughed.  

                "Yeah, _right,_" he sneered.  "Don't make me laugh, sweet thang."  

                "You hurt me and you'll regret it," Charlene said, mustering her faltering bravery.

                "Ooooh, is yer auntie gonna come git me?"  McCracken chuckled.  "I don't _think _so."  

                He pressed RECORD on the boom box and cleared his throat.  

                "Hey, Starling!" he shouted.  "Starling, you listening?  Let's have some _fun._"  

                He stepped forward and grabbed Charlene's cuffed hand.  His thick fingers settled around her pinky finger and bent it backwards.  Charlene let out a shriek of pain and tried to pull it away.  McCracken laughed cruelly.  His other hand flashed up and across her face.  The flat, fleshy sound echoed in the room, bracketed by Charlene's scream and McCracken's laughter.  

                "Let's get this party _started, _Starling," he yelled at the boombox.  "I tell you what.  You locked me up for five years."  

                His boot pistoned forward against his victim's unprotected ribs.  Charlene sobbed and tried to roll into a ball as much as she was able.  Slowly, viciously, McCracken kicked her twice more, grinning at each choked-off scream.  

                "Five years, Starling.  So I'll tell you what.  Five tapes.  Five tapes I'm gonna send you.  And in the _last _one…you're gonna get something you'll love.  You called me a serial strangler.  Well hey bitch, you're gonna get to hear what your little niece sounds like when I get my hands nice and tight around her neck."  

                The sound of blows and screams echoed in the factory for a little while longer, then there was only sobbing.  McCracken felt winded, but pleased with himself.  He watched her cower on the ground.  _Now _she knew who was boss round these here parts.  He could see bruises forming on her legs and arms.  Good, it'd be a good lesson for her.  He put a cigarette in his mouth and lit it, inhaling the tobacco quite deeply.  

                …

                The Washington Monument was a great spike of white against the night sky, reflected pleasantly in the waters of the reflecting pool.  A few people walked around the plaza, looking in at the calm waters.  There were not so many as you might think, as it was quite late at night.  A lone woman in a dark coat scurried out along the plaza to one corner of the reflecting pool.

_I cannot believe I'm doing this, _Clarice Starling thought.  _I am an FBI agent and here I am in cahoots with…a serial killer.  _

A solitary man stood nearby, also wearing a dark coat and a fedora.  A very nice silk scarf was tucked into the lapels of his coat.  He nodded calmly at Clarice Starling as she approached.  

"Good evening, Clarice.  The monument is awfully pretty at this time of night, is it not?"  

Clarice's eyes burned at him.  With what, it was hard to say.  The trauma of Charlene's kidnapping, the pain of knowing what the man who held her was capable of, and perhaps the knowledge that part of her wanted to go back.  Clarice didn't want teacups to leap up off the floor, nor did she mean to bring back the dead.  She wanted time to roll back so that she could be standing in front of Dr. Lecter again, with his words echoing in her ears:  _Tell me Clarice, would you ever say to me 'Stop, if you loved me you'd stop'?  _  

But now she couldn't, and couldn't cleanly.  Charlene needed her.  That overrode everything.  And so here she was, handing over confidential FBI files to a serial killer.  

"Yes," she said, and fumbled for her briefcase.  From it, she extracted a thick manila folder.  _Déjà vu _swept over her, except this was the Washington Monument, not a basement cell in Baltimore.  She stood a few steps away from Dr. Lecter, afraid to get too close to him.  He simply stood calmly, watching her and not moving to narrow the gap.  She held the file out stiffly to him and he accepted it graciously.  

"Here," she continued.  "McCracken's criminal record.  The profile I worked up of him.  VICAP.  The whole nine yards."  

"Why, thank you, Clarice," Dr. Lecter said calmly, and opened the folder.  He flipped through the pages with a gloved thumb.  "Let me have a look at this, and I'll let you know as soon as I have a chance to…digest."  He smiled.  

Clarice's eyes on his were wary.  Did he think this was _funny_?  It seemed he did.  It was a stark reminder of what he was.  

"Thank you, Dr. Lecter," she whispered.  

"And don't be so upset," Dr. Lecter said.  "We'll find her."  He drew himself up and turned to leave.  "I'll call you shortly, Clarice, as soon as I have something."  

He began to walk away, his stride quick and businesslike.  Clarice Starling took a deep breath as she watched him go.  

"Wait," she said suddenly.  

Dr. Lecter turned around and cocked an eyebrow at her.  

                "Yes, Clarice?" he said, and there were a few moments of silence while she gathered the courage to ask her question.  

                "What if…what if you get caught?" she asked suddenly.  

                Dr. Lecter seemed vaguely disappointed.  "I shan't," he said.  "I've been exceedingly careful.  The only officer of the law who could track me is you."  

                Then he was gone, disappearing swiftly behind the white obelisk of the monument, and Clarice found herself feeling empty.  She strode back to the Mustang and headed back to the duplex as quickly as she could.  

                On Clarice's front door was a plain white manila envelope.  Curiously, she took it and shook it.  There was something inside.  She opened the envelope to find a cassette tape.  She stared at it for a few moments, wondering what the hell it could mean, and then put it into her cassette player.  

                The screams and coarse words, coarse words aimed at _her _cut her to the bone, and as she listened to Dave McCracken torturing her niece her brain lit up with rage and grief.  She would see McCracken dead for this.  She stopped the tape halfway through, her hand on the wall to support her, and then she sank down into a chair and cried openly for the first time in years.  She did not notice Dr. Lecter watching her from across the street.  


	6. On the Job

                _Author's note:  This chapter has been a while in the coming, But here we are.  _

Dr. Hannibal Lecter's suite was quite pleasurable.  He sat in his living room, calmly enjoying a cappuccino and reading the criminal file of Dave McCracken.  After all, a promise was a promise.  Dr. Lecter took great pleasure in putting others through all sorts of travails _before _giving his word, but once he had given his word, it was inviolate.  

                Mr. McCracken was a quite nasty man, Dr. Lecter thought.  In other circumstances, he might have enjoyed meeting him.  Of course, he wouldn't be cultured, but there was something enjoyable in meeting someone else who had escaped the confines of a cage and comparing notes.  However, he had now crossed Clarice's path, and Dr. Lecter had promised to help.  McCracken was almost assuredly a sadist.  Dr. Lecter had to give him credit:  kidnapping Charlene right out of Clarice Starling's driveway was a gutsy move.  But now it lay in Dr. Lecter's court to catch him.  If he did, Clarice would hold up her end of the bargain.  He had no doubt of that.  

                It was harder than he thought to leave the thoughts of his little Clarice behind and concentrate on the task at hand.  He couldn't help but think she had made the wrong choice.  Her talents were wasted in the FBI; they would work her for thirty more years and then leave her with nothing more than a gold watch and a 'Good work, Starling'.  Whereas if she were with him, she would know greater happiness than she ever thought possible.   But she had made her choice.  

                McCracken was a former electrician.  Dr. Lecter thought that telling.  Where had he worked before?  According to McCracken's arrest record, he had worked once in a factory but it had closed.  This was apparently the stressor that had resulted in his killing spree.  _Very _interesting.  Dr. Lecter knew that the escapee would most likely seek out something that he had known before.  Something that would be familiar to him.  He was in a new state, without knowledge of the area and its environs.  Might he not seek out the ugly industrial complex he had known before?  Dr. Lecter thought that he might.  

                McCracken was logical; his escape had shown that.  He was intelligent and ruthless.    A pity that they might not be able to meet.  Dr. Lecter had some sympathies for anyone else who had escaped confinement.  But still, targeting a young girl was something he found distasteful, and in any case he had given his word.  

                Dr. Lecter rose from his chair.  He would need to visit a few town halls in order to find the addresses of abandoned factories.  For a moment he found himself reflecting: this was so _easy _for him, and yet it would have taken the FBI weeks to think of it.  Perhaps Clarice might have, but it was entirely possible that she was not at her top form.  Under the circumstances it was quite understandable.  

                Then again, he thought, they were only human.  He had a mind not measurable by modern man, and in the asylum, he'd had plenty of time.  He'd observed the other inmates in the violent ward and what made them tick.  He'd read extensively.  He knew the criminal mind better than most of the FBI's profilers.  He knew how they thought and what they sought.   It was often sad and pathetic, really; they sought out things that were familiar, which often led to their capture.  The day the FBI learned to predict them as well as he did would be the day they took a quantum leap forward in profiling.  

                Calmly, Dr. Lecter put on his overcoat and strolled out.  He had some work to do.  

                …

                Clarice Starling sat in her basement cubicle at Quantico.  Her eyes were hot with unshed tears as she listened to a copy of the tape.  It was absolutely horrible and heart-rending to hear the killer torturing her niece, but she did it anyway.  She couldn't help but think that there might be some clue to be found therein.  

                So she heard McCracken's coarse words and Charlene's screams over and over, gritting her teeth against the horror.  She found her mind wandering.  Why had this happened to Charlene?  The girl had never hurt anyone else.  And for God's sake, why had Dave McCracken had to escape when Charlene was visiting?  Any other goddam week and Charlene would have been safe at home, in West Virginia.  

                But it did no good to ask why.  Her reverie was interrupted by the phone ringing.  She stared at it for a moment, wondering if it would be Dr. Lecter already.  She didn't want him calling her at work; it would be traceable.  For just a moment she thought about how little guilt she felt about conniving with a serial killer.  For someone who had striven all her life to be four-square, honest, a true shepherd to save the lambs, it was certainly out of character.  

                She picked up the phone and held it to her ear.  

                "Starling," she said dully.  

                "Agent Starling, this is security.  We have a man and a woman at the front gate claiming to be your sister and brother-in-law."  

                Clarice blinked owlishly.  Was Patty here already?  Then she remembered her younger sister was flying in.  

                "I'll be right there," she said, and got up from her cubicle.  

                It seemed odd, walking through the halls of Quantico.   Everything was just as it had been before.  All the halls, all the elevators, everything, just as before.  But for Starling, nothing was the same.  Her very world had been shaken.  For if a killer could kidnap her innocent little niece from her very own driveway, what did that say about order in the world?  Was the order she'd sought to maintain all her life anything more than an illusion, a tissue-thin band she had foolishly thought would hold the good high and the bad in its place?  

                She thought of how Dr. Lecter would be so amused at that.  He knew better; he knew that the world was full of chaos, sound and fury.  A tale told by an idiot, signifying nothing, Shakespeare had said.  Were the Bard and the doctor correct?  It seemed they were.  

She drove down to the front gate, far too slowly for her usual preferences.  At the front gate was a shiny new rental car, pulled over to the side.  The Marine on duty was waiting for her, full of calm professionalism, with two people by his side.  

                "Here," she said.  "What do I need to fill out?"  

                He gave her the forms.  "Sign here and here, Agent Starling, and you can't bring them anywhere on the base that's secured.  Which is most of it."  

                Clarice nodded and looked at her sister for the first time in years.  Patty Starling Stenson resembled her older sister a fair amount, except her brown hair was curly where Clarice's was straight as her morals.  Rather like her daughter's, Clarice found herself thinking, and forced herself to stop.  Her eyes, the same shade of blue as Clarice's, seemed pinched and sad.  Her daughter was held hostage by a madman.  

                "Patty," Clarice said.  

                "Clarice," her sister returned.  She opened her arms.  Slowly, uncomfortably, Clarice accepted her sister's hug. Behind her, David Stenson stood and looked vaguely uncomfortable.  Clarice offered him her hand.  

                "Who all's got my baby?" Patty whispered.  

                "Patty, I want you to listen to me, now," Clarice said, standing straight.  Crazily, it was easier to be strong around Patty; her younger sister needed a rock to lean on.   She could be that rock.  "Y'all follow me back to the FBI's building here an' we'll eat in the cafeteria.  Y'all must be hungry."  Her drawl returned, sharp as it had ever been when she was a young girl in the hills of Appalachia, and she was completely unaware of it.  

                Equipped with visitor's passes, her sister and brother-in-law were able to join her in the cafeteria.  It wasn't much.  Patty looked at her with lost eyes over her burger.  

                "Who's got my baby, Clarice?" she asked hoarsely.  

                Clarice found herself cringing.  All the times she'd ever thought of her sister as white trash, all the times she'd ever considered Patty to be a woman who'd made all the wrong choices in life, every nasty thought and resentment she'd ever had towards her sister seemed to haunt her.   Her sister was simply a woman trying to cope with possibly the greatest loss a parent can know.  Money or class or life choices had nothing to do with it.  

                "A…a criminal.  Someone who escaped from prison." Clarice began.  "We're looking into it.  I promise you that, Patty.  We'll get her back."  

                "Why Charlene?" Patty asked directly.  "Why my little girl?"  

                "I don't know, Patty," Clarice whispered.  

                "She ain't never hurt nobody," Patty said powerlessly.  

                "I know.  We'll get her back."  

                "She's just a girl.  She ain't done nothing."  Patty's eyes were blank, envisioning her daughter.  When she spoke again, it was with the barely controlled, disjointed speech used by those who cannot cope with the present and have taken refuge in random spots of the past.  

                "Clarice, y'remember when we was kids?  And we used to listen to the trains goin' by?  Charlene used to love trains too." 

"Yes," Clarice Starling said, remembering two little girls sharing a room, listening to the thunder and whistle of the trains as they passed.  How it had seemed to shake the room!  She had thought them the greatest, mightiest engines on earth, massive steel thundering along.  

  "Our house now, it's right close to the tracks, and she used to listen to them when they went by.  All the kids took a train down here to DC.  She thought it was so great. Her first trip on a train."

  Clarice Starling's eyes went as blank as her sister's.  Trains?  Wait a minute.  The loud blast of a train whistle filled her consciousness.  Not a train passing by a house in the early seventies, but a train whistle more recently.  Comprehension filled her brain and her jaw dropped.  How in God's name had she missed it?

"Patty, could y'all excuse me for like fifteen?"  

Patty Starling Stenson blinked at her older sister.  "Why sure thang, Clarice," she said.  

Clarice Starling ran down to her desk and sat down.  She grabbed up the tape player on her desk and put her headphones on.  She rewound the tape and punched PLAY as hard as she could.  

"Hey, Starling!  Starling, you listening? Let's have some _fun," _came the evil voice on the tape.  She punched REWIND and played it again.  

"Hey, Starling!"  There it was:  WHAAAA, the sound of a train whistle. "Starling, you listening!  Let's have some _fun!" _WHAAA, again.  

"Son of a bitch, you're right close to some train tracks," she whispered, and ran back to the cafeteria.  

"Patty," she said urgently.  "Patty, listen.  You just gave me a _hell _of an idea.  But I need to check somethin' now.  Can we get y'all settled in your hotel and I'll call you?"  

Patty looked blankly at her and then shrugged.  "Sure, Ah guess…is it about Charlene?"  

"Sure is," Clarice said.  "I need to check some thangs.  I don't mean to be rude, but you know."  

Patty shook her head and started to cry.  "Hell no, Clarice, don't worry bout it, not if it's about my baby,…"  

"It's OK. Don't cry, Patty.  Lemme just check up a few things.  I'll call you in a couple hours, how's that?"  

Patty went along willingly enough to her car, and Clarice Starling raced down to her office.  She grabbed her gun and holstered it.  Then she ran upstairs, to where she could check railroad lines in the area for possible hideouts.  McCracken was local; the envelope at her house had been left there with no postage.  He hadn't mailed it, so he had to have delivered it himself.  

As she ran back upstairs, she didn't notice the voicemail light on her phone flashing.  


	7. Decisions and Choices

                _Author's note:  This fic has been slow in coming.  Some of this has been work and some of this has been blockage.  The blockage will clear up eventually as I have a clear idea of where I want things to go.  However, this story has a few allies.  One is a certain someone who shall remain nameless, but lives in a country populated by strange and bizarre animals like emus, koalas, the Wiggles, and Steve Irwin the Crocodile Hunter.  (Krikey!)  This someone has continued to occasionally elbow me in regards to this fic.  To them I say thanks, and here's your chapter.  Oh, and have the emus stopped screaming? __J _

_                The other is Luna, who gave me something to work with when I really had no idea where this chapter was going.  Thanks Luna as well, you're also to credit.  But without further ado…._

Clarice Starling shoved her key in the door of her duplex and sighed.  She was disconsolate as she entered the house and plunked down her briefcase.  The day had started so hopefully, when she had realized McCracken's tape – and presumably, his hideout – was near train tracks.  Then she'd discovered just how many miles of train tracks were in the metro DC area.  

                It helped, oh yes.  It cut down considerably on where she had to look.  But there was still so much and she hadn't been able to come up with squat.  She'd communicated her lead to the rest of the FBI, and the agents officially working the case had been receptive to it.  Clarice didn't doubt that they were trying, but still.  A depressive little voice in her head informed her that they'd find McCracken all right, and try him for the murder of Charlene Stenson. 

                _No, _she told that voice.  _I will not let that happen.  _

_                What are you going to do to stop it?  _the little voice asked.   _You knew Dr. Lecter was at Muskrat Farm.  You don't know where Charlene is.  _

_                I will find her, _Clarice vowed.  _No way in the world can Dr. Lecter be saved and Charlene die.  _

She kicked something as she went in and scowled.  Then her eyes went wide.  There were two envelopes in her doorway.  One was a large manila envelope, containing a lump that Clarice knew was a cassette tape.  Angry tears glittered in her eyes at the sight of it.  The other was a fancy vellum envelope, which clearly contained only paper.  It was too flat and neat to contain anything else.  Her first name was written across it in a clear machinelike copperplate.  

                _Goddam it, _she thought, _I'll have to have the house put on watch.  When the hell did my front door become Serial Killer Central?_

She couldn't bear to hear the screams of her niece quite yet, so she opened up the letter from Dr. Lecter first.  It was surprisingly simple and didn't taunt her.  

                _Dear Clarice, _

_                You really ought to check your voicemail more often.  Call me, please.  (202) 555-3432.  _

_                H.  _

Clarice debated calling him before she opened the envelope.  Well, wait, no:  she ought to listen to it herself – painful as it would be.  Part of her was loath to trust Dr. Lecter.  For all she knew, he might simply tell her he'd found Mr. McCracken, they'd had a nice chat, and Charlene's body could be found at a local funeral home.  

                _He wouldn't do that, _Clarice told herself.  _He gave me his word.  But still.  _She couldn't exactly trust him.  He was a monster, and the fact that he was currently her ally did not change that fact.  

                So she screwed up her courage and put the tape into her player.  There were a few moments of hissing silence.  Then her niece spoke.  She sounded shaky.   _That makes sense; she must be terrified.  _But he wasn't hitting her. Thank God for small favors.  

                "Aunt Clarice," Charlene said.  She seemed to be reciting a prepared speech.  That was good – if McCracken had prepared a speech for her, maybe he would keep her alive a little longer.  Or maybe she was grasping at straws.  Maybe McCracken was cracking up.    

                "Aunt Clarice, it's Charlene.  I'm…all right.  Don't worry about me.  Dave McCracken has…he's been merciful."  Charlene let out a sigh, and Clarice found herself doubting the level of McCracken's alleged mercy.  

                "He says he is willing to make a straight trade.  If you want to him to let me go, you'll have to take my place.  If you give yourself up to him, he'll let me go an'…an'…an' take care of his bidness with you." 

                Charlene burst into tears then, probably thinking that there was no way Clarice would agree to that.  Clarice felt tears prick her own eyes.  _Goddam McCracken.  I am going to put you in a cell and make sure you never, never get out. That is unless I kill your ass before I bring you in.   _

"If you want to take his…offer…"  

                A sharp smack echoed from the player, and she heard an angry voice grumble at her.  Charlene spoke freely for the first time.  

                "Owwww!  Okay, okay, I'm sayin' it."  She sniffled.  Clarice gritted her teeth.  

                "If you want to take his _gen'rous _offer," Charlene continued, "then take a white piece of paper and stick it in the middle of your front yard.  Put a rock on it so that it's weighted down.  Don't call no cops or nothing.  You'll get a phone call once he sees it tellin' you what to do next."  

                She let out a long, shuddering breath, and Clarice found herself illogically tempted to reach for the cassette player, as if she could magically jump through the speaker and teleport herself to her niece.  She clenched her fists, feeling the nails dig into her palms.  Would she do it? Shit, she'd have to.  She could deal with McCracken.  She was a warrior.  Charlene wasn't.  

                Course, that didn't mean she couldn't be right sneaky herself.  

                McCracken's voice, low and menacing on the tape:  "_Say it."  _

"I don't wanna," Charlene whimpered.  

                "Say it or I'll do it now," McCracken hissed.  

                Charlene took a deep breath.  

                "If'n you don't," Charlene said, her voice shaking with fear, "if'n you don't Aunt Clarice, the next tape he's gonna take a cattle prod to me."  

                She screamed suddenly, the sound shrill and excellently reproduced by Clarice's speakers.  

                "No, I said it!  Don't! PleeeeAAASE!"  

                Another agonized scream.  Clarice flinched.   McCracken chuckled cruelly.  

                "That's a little sample of what West Virginia girls sound like when they get up close and personal with a cattle prod," McCracken said breezily.  "Just in case you were wondering.  But listen, bitch, I'm in a rare good mood.  Make you a deal: straight swap.  You for her.  Then we'll settle up our differences.  If I don't hear from you by six tonight, I'll assume you're not interested and we'll just go to tape number three.  Cattle prod special, just for you."  

                Anger and pain shot through Clarice as she punched the STOP button on her cassette player.  For several moments she trembled, not sure if she was going to cry or punch the wall.  She settled for both.  Her reward was a flare of pain in her hand, a hole in her drywall, and tears in her eyes.  She glanced at her clock.  5:30.  He'd deliberately picked a tight deadline so that she wouldn't have time to get backup. 

                Clarice scarfed a piece of paper from her printer and headed outside.  She put it on the front of the lawn, so that McCracken would see it.  She would have to assume he would be hard to catch, probably driving by the house or checking from a street over.  Or sending a friend.  Criminals had buddies.

                When she returned, she poured herself two fingers of whiskey for the sake of her aching hand.  Would she have time to call Dr. Lecter?  Did he have something?  She stared at her FBI cell phone.  

                Nope, she had to prepare first.  McCracken was probably planning to try holding her hostage.  Fine; he could think that.  Clarice went into her bedroom and came out with a hotel sewing kit, a handcuff key, and a razor blade in a cardboard sheath.  It took only a moment or two to sew the handcuff key to the back of her waistband.  The razor blade was harder, and it took her a few tries to get it secured.  

                _I'll probably cut my ass seven ways to Sunday, but it doesn't matter, _she thought.  Now if McCracken put handcuffs on her, she could get to the key.  If he tied her up, she had the razor blade.  Better she cut herself than McCracken cut Charlene.  She could always get stitches, wasn't nothing new to her. 

                Next, she took a boot knife and carefully strapped that to her right ankle.  To her left, she attached her cut-down .45 in its ankle holster.  She'd keep her regular .45 in its Yaqui slide on her belt, so McCracken could take that and think he'd disarmed her.  Her hand throbbed, but what the hell.

                Her cell phone taunted her from where it lay on the desk.  Call him or no?  _Trust _him or no?  She had no illusions about Hannibal Lecter.  He was a serial killer, a monster, and by all means incredibly dangerous.  

But he was also an ally, of sorts.  Better to try.  She held it with her uninjured hand and began to punch the buttons.  She'd made the first four when she suddenly knew something had changed.  It wasn't a sound; it was merely a rush of disturbed air, and then the scent of men's cologne – something absurdly expensive, she was sure – was tickling her nose.  She turned around in her desk chair and observed the figure of Hannibal Lecter standing in her living room with no surprise.  

                How had he gotten in?  Window?  Back door? She didn't know.  Her gun was right at her hip, along with her handcuffs.  She could try and take him down immediately.  But no; trying to arrest Hannibal Lecter would get in the way of saving Charlene.  She didn't want Dr. Lecter to escape justice, but the life of her niece was not something she was willing to pay.  

                "Hello, Clarice," he said simply.  

                "Dr. Lecter," she whispered powerlessly.  

                "You don't check your voicemail, do you?"  

                "Voicemail?"  Clarice stared blankly at him.  

                "I called your voicemail earlier today," he said, quite calmly.  

                "You got something?" she asked.  Her eyes lit up and her heart began to pound.  Across the room, keeping his distance as he had in his cell, Dr. Lecter noted this.  

                "Indeed, I do," Dr. Lecter affirmed.  

                "What is it?" she panted.  

                "McCracken was an electrician," Dr. Lecter said calmly.  "He worked in a factory.  I believe that he's going to go back to what he feels comfortable in.  He's in a new place.  He doesn't know the area or the people.  He has no more…buddies from prison.  Seek out an abandoned factory, and hide there.  I took the liberty of examining some local maps.  There's an abandoned factory ten miles outside the city limits, right off the highway.  North of here.  Easy to find.  It used to make calculators, I believe."  His eyebrows rose and lowered, and it struck her that this was _very _amusing for him.  "_I _calculate that if you go there, you'll find a dirty gray van parked there, and Mr. McCracken and your niece therein."   

                _Abandoned factory.  _It made perfect sense.  Plenty of factories were located next to railroad lines, too.  How many abandoned factories could there be?  

                Even so, with McCracken's new offer, it didn't matter.  The only question was whether or not she would tell Dr. Lecter about this latest development.  It was hard.  He'd dealt foursquare with her _this _time.  But that didn't mean he would continue to do so.  He might even be jerking her around now.  When you came right down to it, innocent lives didn't mean much to Dr. Lecter.  Catherine Baker Martin had only been a means to ride to freedom for him; he hadn't cared terribly much for what she'd felt or experienced in Buffalo Bill's pit.  Did Charlene Stenson's trauma mean anything more to him?  Would he help her?  If Charlene were wounded, would he do anything for her?  He was a doctor, sure, but he was also a sociopath.  

                Could she trust him?  

                "You seem nervous, Clarice," Dr. Lecter said, glacially calm.  "Is there something new?  Some new development?"  

                5:55.  McCracken had almost assuredly seen the white paper on her yard and would probably be calling soon.  Would he call the house phone or the cell?  Probably the house; that's what Charlene had.  No, wait.  Had she given Charlene her cell number?  It was impossible to remember with those calm maroon eyes locked on hers.  

                Did she trust him? Yes or no?  What should she do?  She'd already given confidential files to him.  It would be easy enough to lie.  _Dr. Lecter, I'm going back to Quantico to check a few things.  _Wasn't like he would follow her there.  But he'd know.  Somehow he always did.  

                "He gave me another tape," Clarice said, deciding honesty was the best policy.  

                Dr. Lecter raised his eyebrow.  "A tape?"  

                "Here," she said.  "I can't…I don't want to listen to it again."  

                Considerately, Dr. Lecter let her step out of the room and put on a pair of headphones he found next to the tape.  A slight expression of displeasure crossed his face, as if someone had said something he found slightly rude.  After listening to both tapes, he put the headphones down and called Clarice back in.  

                "It's a trap, Clarice," he said.  "Almost assuredly.  He plans to get you there, and then he will probably try to kill you both.  Or perhaps kill you while Charlene watches."  

                "How do you know?" Clarice asked, her tone wary enough to make it a challenge.  

                "I would," he answered calmly. 

                It was a stark reminder of whom she was dealing with.  She took a deep breath.  

                "I could find out where he is," Clarice pointed out.  

                "Quite dangerous, Clarice.  You might well kill your niece by going, or force her to watch you be killed."  

                "If I don't," Clarice said, "he'll kill her anyway."  

                "If you go," Dr. Lecter said, "let me shadow you."  

                The thought of _that _sent chills down her spine.  Shadow her.  The idea of the monster in the fedora shadowing her was enough to give anyone the heebie-jeebies.  But Clarice found herself wondering if it was more than fear that made her tremble.  

                "Dr. Lecter, even if you did, you'd be in danger of capture," Clarice pointed out.  "There'll be cops there real quick, and ambulance and such."  

                "I'm not worried," Dr. Lecter said.  "You should have some backup, though."  

                Clarice's lips trembled.  Did he actually care about her?  But then she squashed it off:  her own emotions towards Dr. Lecter would have to wait.  To even think about falling into his arms while a sadistic psychopath held her niece captive was blasphemy.  

                "I'll be all right, Dr. Lecter," Clarice assured him, seeming oddly like a teenager assuring her parents she can be trusted with the family car.  Her hands were behind her back, adopting a posture of a soldier at parade rest.  Their eyes met, interested but distrustful.  They circled each other like two cats.  Cool blue eyes met equally cool maroon ones. 

                Why _didn't _she want him to go with her, she wondered.  That was actually easier to answer than she thought.  Because he was a serial killer who'd killed law enforcement officers before, that was why.  And she'd have to be pretty stupid to put herself in a life-and-death situation with a man she wasn't sure or not she could trust backing her.  Might be better to rely on herself; she'd done it before.   

                What was odd was that part of her told her to trust him, to bring him along.  It was a good idea to have another set of hands along.  And if he turned on her, it wasn't like she couldn't shoot him for that matter.  

                Should she trust him or not?  Would he be help or a hindrance?  A blessing or a curse?  

                The phone was ringing.  That would be McCracken.  Decision time.  

                She eyed Dr. Lecter, letting the phone ring a few times.  In her mind, scales bounced back and forth, before finally coming to rest at a decision.  

                Knowing who was on the other end of the line, looking at the man on the Ten Most-Wanted list standing in front of her, Clarice Starling lifted the phone.  

                "Hello, McCracken," she said neutrally.   But her eyes and her mind were on Dr. Lecter, and she wondered as she spoke if she had made the correct decision.


	8. The Hunt

Clarice Starling's engine roared as she drove to the destination Dave McCracken had told her to go to.   It wasn't the rural factory that Dr. Lecter had supposed.   That didn't surprise her.  Wherever she went would be a phone booth.  Despite what McCracken thought, it wasn't really original.  Criminals did stuff like this all the time.  What it would do was make it difficult for law enforcement to track Clarice.  Too bad most criminals didn't realize how easy it was to put a GPS transmitter on an agent and track 'em wherever you want from miles away.  

Too bad, too, that she hadn't had time for such niceties.  

The idea of simply storming the factory had occurred to her.  There were two reasons why she'd decided against it.  The first, simply put, was that McCracken had his schedule down tight.  If he expected her to answer the phone at Union Station – the first place he was sending her to, and probably not the last – and she didn't, Charlene would pay the price.  It was enough that she knew where his hideout was.  The second, quite honestly, was that she wasn't totally sure she could trust Dr. Lecter.  Maybe he was on the level.  But it wouldn't be out of his league at all to send her to the wrong destination.  She knew that after having heard about what he'd said to Senator Martin.  

If he was lying, she'd just gotten around his game.  If he wasn't, it was still safer to do what McCracken wanted.  As long as Charlene's neck was on the line, she'd play _his_ game.  Once she got close enough to McCracken, though, that was it.   He was going down.  If he was alive when the smoke cleared, that was fine.  If he didn't survive, she wouldn't shed any tears over him. 

She glanced in her rearview mirror.  She'd told Dr. Lecter not to follow her.  One serial killer at a time, that was her rule. Still, she wouldn't put it past him to follow her anyway.  Dr. Lecter wasn't known for listening to law enforcement officers.    

She reached Union Station and located the phone booth on the street ringing without much effort.   The Mustang stayed on the street while she grabbed it.  Her FBI badge would keep any traffic cop at bay.  Besides, all she needed was a couple of minutes.  

The hard plastic of the payphone receiver was satisfyingly strong in her hand.  She lifted it to her ear.  Her eyes narrowed.  

"Starling," she said.  

"Hey, Starling," Dave McCracken said jovially.  "You got there.  Good.  Your little niece gets out of making tape number three for now."  

She wanted to ask him why he was doing this but didn't want to.  Her eyes searched the roadway for any cars.  Had Dr. Lecter followed her anyway?  She didn't see a fancy car.  Then again, he probably had cars that weren't so fancy.  Or had he gone directly there?  _That _idea chilled her.  Dave McCracken and Dr. Lecter together.  God only knew what games they could come up with.  

"So what now?" she asked.  "I know you're not here."  

"You're right.  I'm not.  Head to Ballston Commons Mall.  There'll be pay phones by the food court.  The last one on the end will be ringing.  You've got twenty minutes."  

_Click.  _

Clarice sucked in air and jumped back in the Mustang.  She left the phone hanging – she had little time.  Twenty minutes didn't give her a lot of time.  The Mustang roared across the Beltway.  God, she'd better not get a speeding ticket.  

_You really ought to think about calling for some backup, _her mind whispered.  No, that was out.  _Starling, come into the office, Starling, let's talk about this.  _It would all boil down to one thing:  _Starling, wait.  _Meanwhile McCracken would be doing God only knew what to Charlene.  She was in it now and she had to follow it through.  

The knife on her ankle dug into her as she drove, but she ignored it.  God only knew what Charlene was going through. Within relatively short order, Clarice pulled into the parking lot at the mall and jumped out.    She wind-sprinted from the car to inside and almost bowled over a few shoppers.  

_Good thing I don't have my gun out, _she thought.  

But she made it to the food court and to the ringing phone.  She grabbed it and held it to her ear.  _Made it. _  

"Starling," she said breathlessly.  

"How nice to hear from you," McCracken sneered.  

"I want to talk to Charlene," Clarice demanded.  

McCracken chuckled.  "You're not giving the orders here, Starling," he said blandly.  

"I know.  Just let me talk to her.  I want to know you haven't killed her."  Although it galled her to show any kind of weakness to this killer, she cleared her throat and put a pleading tone in her voice.  "Please?  I've shown good faith.  No other cops, no bugs, no nothing.  Just let me talk to her."  _I could have been followed by a killer who makes you look like a Cub Scout, fella, so cut me some slack, _she followed it up with mentally.  

McCracken seemed satisfied.  She heard the phone click and then her niece spoke shakily.  

"Aunt Clarice?"  

"Charlene, it's gonna be okay," Clarice said.  "You just sit tight."  

"Aunt Clarice, he's gonna kill us both," Charlene said, her voice choked with tears.  Clarice felt a lump growing in her own throat, imagining what her niece had been through.  

"No, he ain't," Clarice said, swallowing to force the lump away.  She had to be strong.  She was the warrior.  

McCracken interrupted the tearful scene.  "Aww, ain't that cute," he sneered.  "OK, Starling, good job.  Get your ass out of the city.  Go down to the Arlington exit.  When you get off the exit there'll be that road sign sayin' where gas stations and such are.  There'll be an envelope at the bottom of the sign.  Directions are in there."  

_You asshole, I live in Arlington, _Clarice thought but dared not say.  _You could've saved me a lot of time.  _But of course, his entire goal had been to waste her time and bounce her around town so she knew she wasn't followed.  And he might well have buddies watching her to make sure she wasn't followed.  

So she ran out to the car again and started her lonely vigil again.  It wasn't too far to the Arlington exit.  It was somewhat windy.  Clarice wondered what would happen if the envelope was gone.  The thought lined her throat with slate.  She swallowed once and took the exit.  At the bottom of the exit, she wrenched the wheel to the right, bouncing the right wheels of the Mustang up onto the curb.  A car behind her honked angrily, and she ignored it.  

She jackknifed across the seat and opened the passenger door.  Ahead, at the bottom of the sign, was the envelope.  A great leap of hope leaped up in Clarice Starling's soul at the sight of that envelope.  Her profiler's mind ticked away the similarities.  _He's used the rock-and-paper method before.  Sticking to what he knows.  Good deal.  _

Her fingers shredded the envelope with no regard for what the evidence people might think.  Screw 'em.  They could've been along for the ride.  Inside was a lined piece of note paper.  The handwriting was clearly Charlene's, not McCracken's.  She nodded bitterly.  

_Abandoned calculator factory outside of town _was the first thing she read, and suddenly found herself disappointed.  The directions to it were just where she'd expected.  Just where Dr. Lecter had told her they would be.  

He'd been honest.  He hadn't done her wrong. And he'd done more in less time to pop up McCracken's location than all of the FBI.   And she'd told him not to follow her and not trusted him.  

Clarice let out a long sigh.  

"I'm sorry, Dr. Lecter," she said regretfully.  

Well hell's bells, she could settle this with him later.  His continued freedom would be a fine reward.  The important thing was rescuing Charlene.  Once that was done she'd make it up to him.  Delete his fingerprint records out of the VICAP database or something.  Charlene needed her now.  

Clarice's Mustang rocketed out of the city limits to where the old calculator factory lay in the woods, where it wouldn't bother people nearby.   It stood there like a dark and desolate temple, its concrete walls reminding her of a medieval castle.  A few rusting trailers were in the parking lot.  Weeds grew in cracks in the asphalt of the parking lot.   Nothing there now – except McCracken and Charlene.   Clarice pulled into the cracked parking lot and parked near the door.  

Her .45 was in her hand before she realized it.  Clarice headed up a few concrete steps to the door and stopped.  Her nerves were alive with panic, her ears pricked for any unknown sound.  She put her hand on the scarred knob and waited a few beats.  

Lights came around from the road, and Clarice whirled, aiming her weapon.  A battered pickup truck with a pipe-frame on the back came into view from around the curve.  Country music played from the speakers, loud enough to be audible from where she sat.  The driver was in silhouette, wearing a baseball cap.  Clarice was tense enough to almost pump a few bullets into the truck, but once the truck passed on without stopping she let out a sigh.  Just some country fella heading home.  

She turned back to the door and opened it.  Automatically, her arms, head, and body all swung like a turret on liquid ball-bearings, smoothly covering everything in her sight.  Old machinery, concrete walls, dirty windows far overhead.  Clarice took a deep breath.  She felt her nervousness begin to slide away.  She was a warrior now, doing what she was born to do.  In place of her nervousness was an icy, cautious calm that enabled her to knowingly approach armed madmen and walk out of the experience alive.  The tall windows allowed enough moonlight in to see by.  Thank God for small favors. 

Clarice walked slowly forward, gun out.  Broken glass gritted under her feet.  The gun swung back and forth in careful half-circles. Nothing in Clarice Starling's line of sight could move and not be covered by the gun in half a second's time.  The main room of the factory was huge, with long-dead machines that reached the ceiling far above.  All this to turn out calculators?  Shit.  She waited for the machines to turn on, for something to happen, but none did.  

A lightbulb guttered from a hall on the other side of the main room.  Clarice's eyes narrowed.  McCracken had been an electrician; of _course _he would turn on the electricity in his hidey-hole.  Moving as quietly as she could, she headed towards the hall.  

Once she was closer, she could hear something.  Some_one, _actually.  Clarice edged a little closer down the deserted hall.  Ahead was a scarred and battered gray door on her left.  It hung open on its hinges.  The sound was coming from there.  She turned a little to see and her eyes widened.  

Once, the room had been an office.  It was a windowless concrete room.  A battered wooden desk was in one corner.  Overhead was a fluorescent light which was pretty clearly on its last legs, guttering on and off with an audible _plink.  _In the center of the room was Charlene.  

She was wearing only a dirty blue T-shirt.  Her bare legs were in front of her.  Clarice could see bruises on them and was instantly filled with a combination of sadness and rage.  Her hands were behind her and a silver piece of duct tape masked her mouth.  Her eyes widened when she saw Clarice and she let out an _mmmmph.  _

Clarice knew better than to break and run.  She carefully covered the room.  She wished she'd brought a flashlight with her.  No McCracken.  Then she turned around and backed into the room.   The .45's muzzle remained centered on the doorway.  If McCracken appeared she'd shoot him right in the guts.  Three times.  She'd face the Board of Inquiry with a smile.  

She backed past Charlene, who was trying desperately to get the tape off her mouth.  Her hands were cuffed behind her back.  Her wide eyes locked on her aunt's.  Clarice was still in her zone and reacted more as the trained FBI agent than the loving aunt.  

"Charlene," she said calmly, "I need you to turn around for me."  

Charlene did, still _mmmphing _through her gag.  Clarice glanced down – just one quick look, to show her where she needed to go.  Then she grabbed the edge of the tape covering Charlene's mouth and ripped it free quickly.  

"Charlene, you OK?" she asked.  

"Aunt Clarice, no!" Charlene said.  "It's a _trap!_"  

Just then, the heavy steel door to the room slammed shut.  Clarice started, but she could not cover the distance in time.  There was a banging of metal as Dave McCracken slid a heavy steel bar into place, to seal the door shut.  A cruel laugh echoed from beyond the door.  

Then the light overhead clicked off, plunging the room and both women in it into total darkness. 


	9. The Swap

                _Author's note:  Here we are with another chapter.  I'd planned to release this as a double-feature with the next chapter of Ghosts, but figured it might be better to release it now.  The Ghosts chapter will be released shortly.  _

                The room was completely dark.  Clarice felt swallowed up.  Her throat felt lined with slate.  Utter darkness, a psycho outside, and no one coming to help her.  

                "Aunt Clarice, what're we gonna do now?" Charlene whispered behind her.  

                She couldn't even see her niece standing a few feet away.  She could feel Charlene's hand on her arm, desperately seeking some kind of connection.  

                "Charlene, it's okay," Clarice said, forcing herself to sound strong and capable.  "Just calm down for me."  

                She could hear fear in Charlene's voice.  Small wonder.  "But Aunt Clarice, he's gonna leave us in here to _starve _to death!"  

                "He ain't gonna leave us in here to starve to death," Clarice said soothingly, although it occurred to her that he could.  What if he did?  The door was metal; she couldn't risk shooting at it.  It might ricochet.  The image of Charlene falling to her bullet rose up in her mind and she forced it away.  

                She couldn't see _anything.  _It was freaky.  It reminded her far too much of Jame Gumb's basement.  Was McCracken in there with her, running around with night-vision goggles?  No, she was letting her emotions run away with her.  

                _Wait.  Wait a minute.  Try and deal with McCracken.  Let him think he won.  _

_                He **did **win, _a voice told her.  _If you'd just listened to Dr. Lecter—_

She cut that voice off.  She still had a few cards to play.   And she should've listened to Dr. Lecter, but she hadn't, and crying over spilt milk wasn't gonna help.  

                "McCracken!" she said, trying to approach the door.  It was confusing to try and walk forward.  She had no idea where the door was or where the walls were.  Everything around her was black.  Her pistol was effectively useless in this situation.  She put it back in her holster so that she didn't shoot herself or Charlene.  She could feel Charlene's hand on her arm and knew Charlene was following her.  Better to let it go.  If she made Charlene stay where she was she might never find her again.  Plus, she didn't want Charlene to freak out.  

                There was no reply from outside.  She could hear him walking up and down, though.  Was he grinning?  Planning his next move?  She wasn't sure.  

                "McCracken!" she repeated.  "I want to talk to you."  

                A cold snicker came from outside the door.  

                "C'mon, McCracken.  I know you ain't gonna leave us in here to starve.  You said you'd trade.  How about it?"  

                "Trade what, Starling?" he said.  "I got you right where I want you." 

                "You can't open this door without me shooting you," Clarice pointed out.  

                McCracken chuckled. "Maybe I don't want to," he said.  "Maybe you can stay in there for all I care, Starling.  It'd be fit for you."  

                A wallop of fear hit Clarice Starling's stomach.  Was he _really _going to leave them in there to starve?  He was a killer, no doubt, but that merciless?  

                "Listen," she said.  "McCracken…it's me you want.  Let Charlene go, and…," she swallowed nervously.  "Let Charlene go, and I'll take her place.  She's just a kid.  She's been through enough."  

                "Aunt Clarice, _no!" _Charlene stage-whispered behind her.  "He's a bad 'un.  You cain't do that."  

                "It's okay," Clarice told her niece.

                McCracken took a while to reply.  Clarice found herself trying to keep from freaking out.  No matter where she turned, she couldn't see a thing.  An open-air blindfold of darkness enveloped her.  

                "She's had enough when _I _say she's had enough, Starling," he said venomously.  Clarice blinked.  He sounded angry.  A lot more angry than a man in his position ought to be. 

                _He doesn't know how to handle the situation. He's got me here but no idea of how to get out of this.  That's why he's toying with leaving us here, because it's the only thing he **can **do.  _

"Listen," Clarice said tersely.  She wished she'd paid more attention in the hostage-negotiation class she'd taken at the Academy.  "Look, McCracken, I know it was hard for you.  Now this has gone far enough.  I'll tell you what.  I'll put down my gun.  You can come take it if you want.  You can take me, whatever you want.  You're in charge.  But just show me that you've got some good faith.   You're not all bad, are you?"  

                "Bad as you want, bitch," he said angrily.  Sounded like he was right on the other side of the door.  Would a .45 penetrate it?  Better not to try.  If it bounced off and hit Charlene…  OK, appealing to his better nature was a no-go.  Made sense; the man had tortured a fifteen-year-old with a cattle prod.  She had to figure him out.  He wasn't Dr. Lecter, after all.  He had his weak points.  

                "McCracken, listen," she said again, trying to make her voice calm.  Was she trying to sympathize with him? Good Christ, she was.  Try and figure him out, as she had once before.

                "McCracken," she continued, figuring he would prefer the last name, "now hear me out.  It was me you wanted revenge on, right?  Me you wanted to hurt?"  

                McCracken grunted and said nothing.  It occurred to her that he probably hadn't thought about his motives terribly much.  Criminals usually didn't.  

                "I think that was it," she whispered into the velvety darkness.  "You wanted to show me I wasn't as smart as I thought I was.  Or as safe as I thought I was.  That you…that you had power I hadn't reckoned with."  Her throat clogged a bit as she continued.  "That's what you want.  Well hell, listen.  You did that.  I know I'm not as smart as I thought I was."  

                A soft sob escaped from behind her.  She supposed Charlene didn't like hearing this.  Well, Charlene would have to deal.  Otherwise McCracken might give into what was really just his cowardice and run away, leaving them locked in here.  

                But he wasn't answering her.  Charlene probably thought that was bad.   Clarice knew better.  It was when they shut up and started listening that you had a chance.  Somehow, she just knew, he was on the other side of the door, looking intently at it.  

                "McCracken, now you know what it's like in lockdown," she continued. "You know what convicts think of short-eyes."  The jailhouse term for pedophiles slipped easily off her tongue.  

                A hard slam against the door.  That made it what, five feet away?  She swallowed and began to relax her fingers on the butt of her gun.  

                "I ain't no fucking short-eyes!" he bellowed.  He kicked the door again in frustration.  

                "_I _know you're not.  But you know, McCracken, it's all over the media.  And some of those papers are going back to Raleigh.  I'm not saying you are.  I know you're not.  But McCracken, all they know now is that you broke out of prison and that you went and kidnapped a fifteen-year-old.  Now look.  I ain't saying you're gonna go back."  

                "I _ain't _going back," he said.  

                "Maybe you ain't," she said.  "But that's the news of you they have.  You don't want them to say 'Wow, McCracken had a thing for kids, huh?'  Course you don't.  So listen.  I'm giving you a pass, here.  You can tell 'em loud and clear that Dave McCracken isn't into kids.  That you only grabbed Charlene to teach me a lesson."  

                Silence from the other side of the door.  

                "Look, McCracken.  I'll give you my gun."  She sidled a step closer to the door.  "You let Charlene go.  It's twenty miles to town, you _know _you can be out of here by the time she gets anywhere.  Take me as your hostage.  Then they'll talk about you proud.  They'll say 'Hey, that McCracken, he wasn't no kiddie-porker.  He got the girl but he let her go, then he killed the FBI agent who put him away.'"  

                A hand fastened down on her shoulder.  She knew immediately that Charlene's eyes were bugging in the darkness, even though she couldn't see her.  

                "Aunt Clarice, are you _crazy?" _Charlene said.  "You…you…_cain't!  _He's a sahco killer!"  

                Clarice Starling sighed in the ebony surrounding her.  "I know he's a psycho killer," she said.  "But Charlene, it's all right.  Trust me."  

                "I don't want him to kill you," Charlene said, and burst into tears.

                "Charlene, I'm a…," she thought.  "I'm an FBI agent.  I'm trained for this.  Now listen.  You've had to put up with more than anyone your age ought to.  Now I'm gonna get you out of here.  Don't worry about me.  I'm trained.  I can handle it."  

                She turned back to McCracken.  "Look," she called out again.  "I know I'll die either way.  If you're gonna kill me, at least think about your own reputation.  Charlene served her purpose, she got me here.  Now let her go. Show you're not a short-eye."  

                She heard the wet sound of him opening and closing his mouth.  He was thinking.  Good.  If she gave him a way to save face, he might let Charlene go after all.  Then it was simply a matter of waiting.  He'd tie her up, she expected that.  Then all she needed to do was get to the handcuff key or the razor blade sewed inside her pants, and boom.  

                "Give me your gun," he demanded.  "Slide it under the goddam door."  

                Clarice had expected this.  She booted the clip and flicked the brass cartridges out of the magazine with her thumb.  Carefully, she put them in her pocket, so that they wouldn't rattle.  Then she cleared the round from the chamber.  _Brigham would've been proud, _she thought.  _I did it in total darkness.  _Then she slipped the empty clip back into the handle of the gun and released the slide.  He might have the gun, but without bullets it wasn't much good.  

                But she slid it under the door as he asked.  It barely fit.  Then Clarice Starling's old .45, veteran of so many battles with her, disappeared.  She felt him grab it and pull it away.  

                "Good," he said.  

                "Now open the door," she said.  "I'm unarmed.  You got control."  

                "Not yet, Starling," he said, and cleared his throat.  "Send your shirt and your bra through there, too."  

                Clarice's breath caught in her throat.  Was he serious?Was he a rapist?  She couldn't remember if he'd raped any of his victims. Had he done anything to Charlene?  Her mind quailed at that thought.  

                Her hands trembled, empty of the .45.  

                "Time's a-wasting, Starling," McCracken sneered.  

                "All right," Clarice whispered.  

                "Aunt Clarice, _don't, _please, you don't want to do this," Charlene moaned in the stillness.  

                Clarice Starling gritted her teeth and felt tears well behind her eyes.  She _didn't.  _She didn't want to be stripped naked by a strangler and have God knows what done to her.  She wasn't naïve.  He'd want her pants off quick if he wanted her top off now.  Once Charlene was out of here, the odds were very very good that she would either have to go for her backup piece or her knife very very quickly.  And she had no assurances of getting out in one piece.  Bizarrely, she thought, it would be smart tactics to let him…to let him have his way.  Might give her another couple of seconds to shuck the cuffs.  Or hell, she could free herself and then slash him with the razor blade.  That'd work.  

                She didn't want to and would have fought such a fate with every ounce of her being.  But would she submit herself to it?  For her niece's life, she would take the chance.  She had to.  Charlene had already suffered far too much, and there was no lamb like your own kin.  

                _I will have a fighting chance.  That alone is enough. _

"Okay," she said, and unsnapped the buttons of her denim shirt.  She shoved that under the door and let McCracken grab it.  Then her sports bra.  _Hope you weren't expecting something black and lacy, pal.  _Suddenly cold in the factory, she shivered.  _Charlene ain't had pants on in days.  Don't complain, Starling, _she told herself.  Besides, it would distract him.  Distracted most guys.

A metal scraping sound came from the door, and Clarice could see and feel a pair of handcuffs being shoved under the door slot.  Yup, predictable.  But that was just hunky-dory with Clarice.  She'd put on the handcuffs, let him think she was helpless, and once Charlene was out of sight, she'd get to work.  Clarice had always known that it might be possible for her own handcuffs to be used on her, and she'd trained for the possibility.  She could have the cuffs open as quick as Houdini if she needed to.  

                So she took the handcuffs and fastened them around her own wrists.  They were icy cold and she shivered.  She could hear Charlene crying as the cuffs ratcheted down.   But Clarice couldn't tell her now that it was OK.  McCracken might hear.  

                "Aunt Clarice, you cain't, you cain't, you cain't give up to him like this," Charlene sobbed.  

                Clarice cleared her throat.  When she spoke, her voice was calm and determined.  

                "Charlene," she said authoritatively.  "Now you listen up.  Don't tell me what I can and what I cain't do.  It's all right."  

                "He'll killya," Charlene said, a faint powerless whisper in the darkness.  

                "Maybe he will, maybe he won't."  _Actually, Charlene, soon as you're out of here I'm gonna unlock these cuffs and go for my gun.  Odds are Davey's gonna cop a feel and then I'm gonna let daylight through him. _

"Charlene, you listen up to me now," Clarice continued.  "I want you to get out of here.  He's gonna trade, just like he said.  You for me.  Now g'wan."  

                "I'll go to college," Charlene said suddenly.  It occurred to Clarice that her niece was utterly, completely convinced that her aunt meant to sacrifice herself for her.  What she was getting now was the mindless gibbering of a girl unable to cope with what her senses told her.  She couldn't really believe this was happening.   It cut into Clarice that she couldn't tell her the truth.  But that would be later.  Once Charlene was safe in a hospital somewhere.  "I'll go to college just like you did, Aunt Clarice, I'll find a way, I'll find a way to save you."  

                Clarice sighed.  "Charlene…don't worry about saving me.  Save yourself.  That's what I want you to do."  Then she turned back to the door.  "Okay, McCracken.  You got me. Just how you wanted.  Now your turn.  Let her go."  

                The door grunted and rumbled in its frame as McCracken fumbled with the bar holding the door shut.  Then it opened, fiercely, piercingly bright against her darkness-accustomed eyes.  Clarice squinted.   McCracken stood there, her gun in his hand.  Did he know it was unloaded?  She wasn't sure.  

                "Over here," McCracken grunted.  Clarice sighed.  She would have preferred to stay away from him, where she'd be able to work more quietly.  She snaked her right hand into the waistband of her pants and pulled the handcuff key free from where she'd sewn it to her inside waistband.  Once done, she concealed the key between her fingers and approached him.  He pulled her in front of him as a hostage.  The greasy feel of his hands on her skin made a wave of nausea pass through her.  He hadn't bathed in a while.  The muzzle of her own .45 pressed against her lower jaw.  Had he loaded it?  She couldn't see it; her chin was in the way.  Both Clarice and McCracken's attention then focused on the trembling girl in the dark room.  

                "Git over here, girlie," he demanded.  Bright though it was, Clarice could see her niece's back bow as if a whip had been cracked.  She wanted out, but she didn't want to approach Dave McCracken.  

                "Okay, Starling," he addressed his hostage.  "Fair enough." He turned his attention to Charlene.   "Get outta here," he barked.  

                Charlene Stenson stepped out of the doorway hesitantly.  Tears streamed down her face.  Freedom was within her grasp, but from the look on her face she knew all too well what price had been paid for it.  She observed her aunt with a look of horror and shame that would scar Clarice Starling's soul for the rest of her life.  

                Then she was gone, legs flashing as she ran, her sobs falling back to Clarice as she stood hostage.  

                Clarice let out a sigh of relief.  She had a fighting chance.   Charlene was free.  The lamb was safe.  Even if she didn't get out of this in one piece, that made everything worth it.  The slam of the door marked Charlene's freedom, and she could rely on her own skills.  The lamb was safe.  Charlene was safe.  

                "So what now?" she asked her captor.  

                She felt him shift against her and bunched her hands into fists, meaning to keep him away from the key. Would he try to open her pants?  The thought made her want to puke.  Not that.  Let him hit her, kick her, that was fine, she was used to fighting.  She could take a few blows.  

                Then suddenly she heard a _click. _The gun at her chin fell to the floor and a hand grabbed her arm. 

                She tensed, but it was already too late.  McCracken's knife slashed across her belly.  The pain was a white line of fire, cutting deeply into her.  Clarice Starling let out an agonized scream.  Her knees unhinged.  McCracken let her fall to the dirty concrete floor.  Above her, he chuckled coldly.  

                The key.  _The key.  _But it was almost impossible to concentrate.  She opened her eyes and saw blood seeping onto the floor.  Her blood.  

                _I'm sorry, Charlene, but it was worth it…you make your mama proud, you do that for me, _she thought.  Images flashed before her:  her girlhood in West Virginia and Montana, her college years, her successes and failures in the FBI.  Dr. Lecter, calm in his cell.  She'd never get the chance to apologize to him.

                "I know she's gonna get the cops," McCracken said coldly.  "You didn't think you was gonna leave here alive, did you?"  

                Clarice Starling lay in a widening pool of her own blood and tried to fit the key into her cuffs before she lost consciousness.

                …

                Charlene Stenson thought not at all as she ran.  Her bare feet thudded against the concrete of the factory floor.  Above her, dead machines stretched high to the ceiling.  Shadows played on the walls.  She registered none of it, simply fleeing the scene of her torture as quickly as her legs would take her.  

                She ran down the flight of stairs and to the factory door.  A short flight of steps and she was to the street.  Her lungs tore in great gasps of air in the summer night.  Her feet hurt as she ran, but still she ran, seeking to put distance between this place of evil and herself.  She did not think of her aunt – _could _not think of her aunt.  Rational thought would return to the mind of Charlene Stenson, but now all that ruled her was the terror of a prey animal.

                Then suddenly she was on the ground, lying on her back.  She'd collided with something.  Something smelling of cologne and fine wool.  She stared up at the figure looming over her with simple terror written across her face.  Her jaw moved slowly.

                Above her, the figure tilted its head.  The dark fedora lent it an air of mystery.  Calmly, it observed her for a beat or two before extending a hand clad in a fine black leather glove. 

                "You must be Charlene," the figure said mildly.  "Well…_hello, _Charlene." 

                


	10. Rescue

            _Author's note:  Well, looks like we get a double feature after all.  For this, you may thank our impatient Aussie Lecterphiles, who have been nudging me rather consistently on this fic.  Patience does not seem to be a virtue terribly common down under.  (Well admittedly, our sample consists of two Aussies, which isn't exactly representative, but there you go.)  _

_                Yes, the ending isn't exactly what I usually do, but hey…_

Clarice Starling groaned.  Her belly was a mass of agony.  White lights danced before her eyes.  She lay with her face on the dirty floor, still trying desperately to fit the key in her handcuffs.  Thankfully, McCracken hadn't seemed to notice.  But she was all too aware that she might not make it. 

                _No.  I will not die in handcuffs here on this fucking floor._

She let out a sob.  If only she'd trusted Dr. Lecter.  He'd been honest after all.  But Charlene was free.  _Charlene was free.  _Even if she did die here, that would make it worthwhile.  

Dave McCracken stood over the dying woman and grinned.  Yeah, things had worked out for the best.  He could always go catch the little one before she got too far.  This hideout was a good couple of miles from anything.  He thought he might have some fun with Starling's little niece after all.  Maybe let Starling watch as she died. 

                He prodded Starling's bare stomach with his boot.  His lips split back from his yellowing teeth.  Yeah, now she knew the score.  She knew who was boss.   He threw his arms in the air with excitement and buried the toe of his dirty engineer boot in Starling's stomach.  It came back bloody.   She let out a gasp of pain and fumbled with something. 

                "Yeah, that'll teach ya," he said.  "Bet you wish you hadn't caught me _now.  _You feel like such hot shit now, darlin' Starling?"  

McCracken kicked her again. She groaned.  This was _fun.  _He placed the sole of his boot on her face.  That would teach her right good.  He rather liked the look of her, looking at him with despair in her face.  His boot sole covered one eye.  Her lips were pressed against the heel of the boot.  

                There was a scrape behind him.  McCracken quit kicking the bitch and turned.  Behind him stood a man.  Kinda short dude, wearing a shirt and tie.  No suit jacket.  Dave McCracken did not know that Dr. Lecter had given his suit jacket to Charlene Stenson and did not care.  Not a cop – a cop would've been aiming a weapon at him right off.  The old party was real skinny.  He tilted his head like he was a freakin' parrot or something.  

                "Mr. McCracken," Dr. Hannibal Lecter said colorlessly.  

                "How the hell do you know what my name is, pops?" McCracken challenged.  

                Dr. Lecter sighed.  "Never mind that.  Mr. McCracken, I'd like to speak with you, if I might.  Perhaps if you'd be willing to stop kicking her."  

                McCracken produced and brandished his knife.  "Listen, pops, I got no quarrel with you.  This is between me and her. Now blow."  

                Dr. Lecter sighed.  "I guess we'll have to do this the hard way."   

                Dave McCracken didn't realize what had happened, at first.  One moment he was glaring antagonistically at the old dudemar.  The next thing he knew, _something _incredibly strong and vicious grabbed his arm.  There was the sudden jerk of his wrist being hyperextended.  Then a crack and a flash of pain.  Then a line of fire across his chest.  Then he was on the floor, gasping for breath.  His good hand clutched the stab wound.    

                "Mr. McCracken," Dr. Lecter repeated calmly.  He wasn't even out of breath.  He circled the younger man and squatted.  In one hand was the curved blade of his Harpy.  

                "In a way I'm sorry it had to come to this," Dr. Lecter continued.  "In other circumstances, I should have had sympathy for you.  After all, we're both men who have escaped the confines of incarceration.  I could have even overlooked your means of getting Agent Starling here.  Kidnapping her niece was rude, and it appears you punished Charlene for things she was not responsible for.  Still, I could have forgiven that as a tactical necessity.  After all, I had nothing against Pembry and Boyle, but I did have to kill them in order to be free.  I wouldn't have done it in your position, but _vive le difference._"  

                Dave McCracken kicked out spasmodically.  

                "But _this…_oh no, I'm afraid this is a little beyond the pale.  You see, I consider Agent Starling…mine.  And no one takes from me what is mine, Mr. McCracken."  

                Dr. Lecter's hand tightened down on Dave McCracken's broken wrist.  He bent it slowly, grinding the bones together.   McCracken let out a choked-off scream from between his teeth.  

                 "Fuck you, then," McCracken said, his teeth bared.  "Kill me."  

                "I'm not going to kill you, Mr. McCracken," Dr. Lecter said.  "I'm going to do worse."  He straddled the taller man, pinning his arms down with his knees.  He planted his left hand on McCracken's forehead to pin it down and give him purchase.  

                The Harpy blade was curved, and it wasn't made for the work Dr. Lecter wanted it to do.  But he was able to dig the knife blade into McCracken's eye sockets fairly well.  He wasn't able to excise the eyeballs completely, but he was able to get enough that Dave McCracken would never see again.  He threw the eyeballs one by one into the corner, where they rolled in the sawdust.  The pupils glared at him sightlessly.  A bit of the optic nerve trailed in the dirt.  Dr. Lecter thought they looked rather like poached eggs.  Under him, McCracken screamed and squalled.  

                Now that that was done, Dr. Lecter turned his attention to the second part of McCracken's punishment.  He pinned down McCracken's left wrist first, as the broken right wrist would make the job easier. Here, again, a heavier knife would have been better.   But he was strong enough to compensate.  He kept the Harpy wickedly sharp, and that helped too.  The knife blade sank into the flesh where McCracken's pinky finger met his hand easily enough.  The hard part was cutting through the bone.  Dr. Lecter didn't want to chop it off, so he simply sawed back and forth, forcing the knife into the bone, until he managed to get the entire finger off.  He tossed it nonchalantly next to the eyeballs.  After all, part of keeping tidy was keeping all the trash in one place.  

                To take the rest of the fingers was simple but drudgery.  But Dr. Lecter was strong and determined and eventually all of McCracken's fingers were off.  Now it was time for the final phase.  Dr. Lecter reached into McCracken's mouth and pried out his tongue.  It was slippery and holding it made Dr. Lecter feel distasteful.  But his powerful fingers trapped the piece of pink meat and it took only a second to cut it off, there being no bone to get in the way as there had been with chopping off McCracken's fingers.  

                Dr. Lecter rose and dusted himself off.  The crease of his pants had become mussed and he took a moment to tweeze it out with a finger to razor sharpness.  He clipped his Harpy back to his belt and took a deep breath.  

                "I shan't kill you, Mr. McCracken.  Instead, I'll be phoning the police shortly."  He bent over the bloody ruin of McCracken's screaming face.  

                "_You're going back to prison."  _

Dr. Lecter walked over to where Clarice Starling lay semiconscious.  She'd managed to free herself from the handcuffs and then passed out.  He squatted and examined the wound.  Serious, but within his ability to repair.  

                A few months ago, Dr. Lecter had offered to bring Clarice Starling with him.  She'd refused him, telling him 'Not in a thousand years'.  Her duty had meant more to her than he did.  Now look what had happened.  

                _This time, I shall make the choice for her.  _

Dr. Hannibal Lecter arose with Clarice Starling in his arms, limp and bloody as a newborn.   He turned to the gurgling lump of meat named Dave McCracken.  

                "As I'm sure you know, prison is a cruel and vicious place," he said.  "All the more cruel and vicious for you now.  You won't be able to see anyone coming.  You won't be able to fight back.  And you won't be able to call for help.  I ask you to think about that, Mr. McCracken.  Think about that as you continue to live in that environment."  

                Then he strode calmly from the factory, Clarice Starling boneless in his arms.  Once he made the parking lot, he noticed Charlene Stenson, sitting curled up at the edge of the factory with her back against the wall.  His sport jacket was pulled around her like a blanket.  Her eyes met his and expanded in grief.  

                "Is she dead?" she whispered.  

                "No," Dr. Lecter said.  "I shall take her, and treat her."  

                "You're that guy who et people in Baltimore," she said.  "I seen it on the Internet."  

                Dr. Lecter sighed.  "Your grammar needs work, young lady.  It is the mark of an educated person to speak properly."  

                "Don't take my aunt," she pleaded.  "She's a good person.  She came here for me."  

                Dr. Lecter smiled coldly.  "I know," he said darkly.  "But she is mine now.  Simply stay here, Charlene, and the authorities will be here shortly."  

                "Don't," she said.  "Please?  She came here for me."  

                "Little girl," Dr. Lecter said, "do not attempt to meddle with what you cannot possibly understand."  

                He turned his back then and left, his stride strong.  His pickup truck was parked down the road.  He'd originally thought that Charlene might require medical attention.  But as it turned out, it was Clarice who did.  He had to press her body against his for a moment to get her arranged in the seat.  Then a pressure bandage over her abdomen, pressed down tight as he could get it.  Finally, he started an IV and hung it from the coat hook in the back of the truck.  That would get some fluids into her to replace the blood volume.  He had a hotel room that would work for the rest of the repairs.  It would be painful and lengthy, but she would both survive and be completely healed again, one day.  

                The truck started and Dr. Lecter drove away, into the night.  As he drove, he picked up a cellular phone and dialed.  

                "911 emergency," a voice said.  

                "Yes, good evening," Dr. Lecter said calmly.  "I believe you're searching for a criminal by the name of David McCracken.  I know where you may find him."  He gave the address of the factory.  "You'll need police to bring him into custody, but you'll also need two ambulances.  His victim is there too, but she's all right.  He, on the other hand…he's not doing so well, I'm afraid."  

                "Sir?  May I have your name, please?"  

                Dr. Lecter pressed END on the phone and carefully wiped it with the tail of his shirt, just in case.  He threw the phone out the window.  It shattered into fragments when it hit the asphalt.  The old truck farted white smoke and drove away.  He'd done what was decent.  Now what remained was to first heal, and then confront, Clarice.   The truck navigated a bend in the road and was gone.

                Back at the factory, Charlene Stenson trembled where she sat against the factory.  Tears openly tracked down her face.  She made no attempt to wipe them away.  She pulled Dr. Lecter's jacket tighter around her.  

                She did not know Hannibal Lecter anywhere near as close as her aunt had, but she did know he was a killer.  He would kill and eat her aunt now, she supposed.  And she couldn't do anything to save her.   Aunt Clarice had risked her life to save hers, and Charlene had not been able to do anything to save her.  She hadn't even tried.  What was she supposed to have done?  The guy ate people, wasn't nothing she could've done to stop him. But she hadn't tried to do a thing.  Some niece she made.  Feeling despicable and weak, Charlene Stenson pressed her back against the wall.  Her ears pricked.  What was that yelling coming from inside the factory?  It had been going on off and on since Dr. Lecter had emerged from the factory.  

                "I'll fix it, Aunt Clarice," she vowed in the silence.  "I'll go to college, I'll get into the FBI, and I'll make it right.  I promise."  

                Sobs shook her as she wondered what that cannibal psychiatrist was doing to her aunt now.  Would he kill her first or eat her first?  The thought was mind-bogglingly horrible, and then she just cried.  

                Sirens in the distance made her raise her head.  A whole flotilla of lights:  ambulances, a couple of local police cruisers, and some FBI dark blue patrol cars.  They pulled into the abandoned factory's parking lot, painting the dingy building with flashes of crimson light.  

                Then there were people over her, jabbering at her.  Two of them lifted her calmly and carried her over to an ambulance.  She could barely make out anything they were saying. The words were ones she knew, but somehow her brain refused to translate them into anything meaningful.  _Honey, what's your name, honey, are you OK.  That's Clarice Starling's niece…where's Starling?  No, Agent Mapp, you can't question her now, she's in shock…c'mon, honey, we're going to take care of you.  _

The ambulance doors slammed shut, and Charlene lay back on the gurney they put her on.  She still clutched the sports jacket around her.  The sting of an IV in her arm made her flinch.    Something flowed into her system and made her feel sleepy.  

                "I'll fix it, Aunt Clarice," she whispered again, before unconsciousness took her.  

                Then she, too, was driven into the night.


	11. Aftermath

                Ardelia Mapp had been floating around the lobby of the hospital for a few hours, and she was sick of it.  A combination of elation and dread held her gut in a vise of opposites.  They'd caught the bad guy and saved Charlene.  That was great.  But Clarice…where was Clarice?  And what was the mysterious splotch of blood they'd found in the factory?  They'd typed the blood, and it wasn't McCracken's, although there was plenty of his blood around.  She found it hard to feel sorry for him, though.  But it _had _matched Clarice's blood type.  But where was she?  If she was dead, where was her body?  She couldn't be dead.  Not Clarice.  They'd been together for too long.  

                She hadn't wanted to interrupt Charlene. God only knew what she'd been through.  Ardelia had seen the bruises on her legs when they'd loaded her into the ambulance.  The poor girl.  But she couldn't let Clarice stay missing forever.  

                Calmly, she went up to the lobby and displayed her ID to the elderly woman behind the desk.  Her ID and a friendly manner got her Charlene's hospital room number.  Ardelia tried to ignore the growing misgivings in her gut on the elevator ride up.  Charlene wasn't in intensive care.  Thank God for small favors.  She stopped in at the nurses' desk and asked to speak to the charge nurse.  She'd learned from her own time in the field to get the OK of hospital personnel before interrogating someone in the hospital.  Otherwise they could make your life miserable.  

                The charge nurse came over and observed Ardelia cautiously.  

                "Can I help you?"  

                "Yes," Ardelia smiled.  "I'm Special Agent Ardelia Mapp.  I'm with the FBI.  I'd like to talk to Charlene Stenson in room 364."  

                The nurse looked dubious.  "She's just been sedated," she said.  "She's not really up to talking right now."  

                Ardelia sighed.  "I'm her aunt's roommate," she said.  "Her aunt is missing.  Now look, I know she's been through hell.  I'm not going to upset her.  I just need five minutes to talk with her.  She might be able to give us information about her aunt."  

                The nurse eyed her carefully, considering her request against her charge's well-being.  

                "You'll have to ask her mother, Agent Mapp.  And if she wants to rest, then you'll have to wait."  

                Ardelia held up her hands, her palms creamy against her coffee skin.  

                "Of course.  I really don't mean to get her upset.  And if she wants to rest I'll let her be.  But I think she'll talk to me."  

                The nurse escorted Ardelia down the hall to a bare hospital room.  One bed was empty.  Charlene Stenson lay in the other.  She wore a white hospital gown with blue dots on it.  One wrist was bandaged where it had been scraped raw by the handcuffs McCracken had forced her to wear.  She looked calm, having been recently sedated so that she might be able to sleep.  

                Patty Starling Stenson sat at her daughter's bedside.  Her face was wan, torn by the same elation and grief that Ardelia herself was feeling.  Her daughter was safe, but her sister was missing.  Her eyes met Ardelia's wordlessly.  Charlene turned her head slowly and observed Ardelia for a few moments with drugged curiosity.  

"Miz Mapp," she said.  "Well, howdy, Miz Mapp."  

                For a moment, Ardelia remembered Clarice saying _Howdy, Ardelia, _whenever she wanted to get a rise out of her.  She sighed.  

                "Hi," she smiled.  "How're you doing, Charlene?"  

                Charlene shifted her legs and shrugged.  "Awl raht, I guess," she said.  

                "Mrs. Stenson," Ardelia said.  "I'm Ardelia, Clarice's roommate.  I just wanted to ask Charlene a couple of questions.  Is that okay with you?"  

                Patty nodded and patted her daughter's hand.  

                "Charlene," Ardelia said.  "Can you tell me what happened at the factory?"  

                "Aunt Clarice was there," Charlene said promptly.  "That guy had me in the room and she came and got me.  Then he locked us both in there."  She looked up at the ceiling, trying to remember.  "Then Aunt Clarice told him to let me go and she'd take my place."  Her jaw wobbled and her eyes moistened.   Her voice thickened as she continued.  "An' she gave him her gun and took off her shirt.  I told her not to, but she did it anyway."   

                "It's okay, Charlene," Ardelia said.  "She was very brave."  _Smooth move, 'Delia, _she told herself.  "She _is _very brave.  And she wanted you out of there.  Now don't cry, it's all OK."  

                Patty Stenson gave her a look.  

                "An' then I ran out of the factory and he had her.  I was so scared…all I did was run.  Then I ran into this guy.  Knocked me flat down, he did."  

                Ardelia leaned forward.  "You ran into McCracken?"  

                Charlene reached out for the plastic pitcher of water at her bedside and drank from it thirstily.  Thus fortified, she shook her head.  

                "Naw, he was in the factory with Aunt Clarice," she said.  "This was another guy.  I don't know who he was.  But he knew my name and he gave me his jacket and tole me he was gonna go help Aunt Clarice."  

                "Did he tell you what his name was?" Ardelia asked, trying to keep the urgency out of her voice, lest she get Charlene more upset.  

                Charlene shook her head.  

                "What did he look like?"  

                "Cain't right tell.  It was dark.  He had a suit on.  And a hat like you see in old movies.  Wasn't too tall, but taller'n me, I guess."

                "How old was he?"  

                "Not sure," Charlene admitted. 

                "He gave you his jacket?  Where's the jacket?"  

                Charlene rolled over and looked at her, puzzled.  

                "That other guy from the FBI took it.  Didn't he tell you?"  

                Ardelia frowned in thought.  "Well, no," she acknowledged.  "Who took the jacket?"  

                "This old guy," Charlene said thoughtfully.  "Old guy with a long face.  Looked kinda like a basset hound.  And he talked like Ben Stein on the Visine commercials.   Momma, what was his name again?"

                "Crawford," Patty supplied.   "He said his name was Crawford.  Now you just take it easy now an' tell Agent Mapp what you can."  

                Despite herself, Ardelia grinned. 

                "Then the guy went in the factory," Charlene continued, encouraged by her mother.  "I just waited there…I was ascairt.  There was some hootin' and hollerin' in the factory."  Then her face began to crumple and she turned away.  

                "Charlene, what is it?"  Ardelia asked gently.  "It's okay, you can tell me.  It's all right."  

                "I…I can't," Charlene sobbed.  

                "Yes, you can," Ardelia said compassionately but firmly.  She moved in a bit closer and put her hand on Charlene's.  "Tell me what happened.  It's OK.  You're safe.  No one's gonna hurt you."  

                "Then…then…he come out with Aunt Clarice," Charlene cried.  Her eyes flamed with horrible memory coming to life as she remembered who the stranger was.

                "She was with him?  Was she OK?"  

                "_No!" _Charlene shouted.  Hysteria overtook the sedative for a moment.  "He was holdin' her and she was all bloody and nekkid, and she wasn't movin' or nothing, and I ast him not to take her but he didn't an' he told me not to meddle an' he took her away an' I knew he was gonna eat her and _I COULDN'T DO ANYTHING!"  _Overcome by her emotions, she simply cried, moving her face away from Ardelia's.  

                Ardelia Mapp's face went an ashy gray.  Hearing that Clarice was bloody and naked was bad enough.  Not moving was worse. But _he was gonna eat her? _That could be only one man.  

                No.  No, it couldn't be.  Charlene was confused.  That was it.  She was drugged now, she'd been traumatized then.  She had misidentified the man who had helped Clarice.  Of all the people to find Clarice in the factory, possibly wounded…not Dr. Hannibal Lecter.  God help Clarice if that was the case.  

Both the older women tried to calm down the distraught girl, and after several minutes Charlene was calm enough to speak again. Ardelia found herself murmuring soothing nothings and patting Charlene's back until she calmed down.  

"I shoulda helped her," Charlene sniffled.  "I shoulda made him put her down.  She tried to save me.  An' he took her.  And I tole him to put her down but he wouldn't listen and now he's gonna eat her."  

"Eat her?  Now why would he do that?" Ardelia asked, although she knew in her heart what she meant.  

Charlene turned and looked at Ardelia, and her face was vulnerable and full of pain.  

"Cause that's what he does," she whispered.  "He's that doctor who ate people long time ago.  I read about it on the Internet."  

Ardelia Mapp swallowed.  

"Okay," she said.  "Listen, Charlene, I want you to rest now.  You've done real good.  We'll find Clarice.  You just stay here and everything will be just fine."  

"He's gonna kill Aunt Clarice," Charlene said miserably.    

"No, he isn't," Ardelia soothed.  "Just leave it to us.  We'll find her.  Everything will be all right."  She rose.  "You've been a great help, Charlene.  You just take care of yourself now.  We'll find Clarice."  

It wasn't until she left the room until she dared let an expression of horror cross her face.  She crammed a knuckle in her mouth. She glanced down the hall and sat down hard on a bench.  

_Dr. Lecter.  Jesus Christ, let her be wrong.  Please don't let this be.  _

She noticed Jack Crawford skulking down the hall, looking expectantly at her.  Once eye contact was made, he sidled up to her and swallowed.  

"Mr. Crawford," she said.  "Do we know anything?"  

He sighed.  "I sent the suit jacket she was found with to Quantico for testing," he said solemnly.  

"And?" 

"PCR-STR testing confirms it."  He produced a folded piece of paper.  "They found hairs on the jacket collar.  A couple were hers, but not too many.  The others…,"  he closed his eyes behind his glasses and showed her the white paper. Five words printed across the bottom dashed Ardelia's hopes in a heartbeat.

_Genetic match confirmed:  Lecter, Hannibal._

"My dear God," Ardelia whispered.  

"We've got FBI and local police out beating the bushes for Lecter right now," he said.  "But he's had a couple hours head start.  He could be anywhere."  

"But…Clarice…we've got to do something," she whispered. 

"Look, Mapp," he said regretfully.  "Charlene's stuck to her story.  Starling was bleeding and unconscious when Lecter carried her out of there.  I don't think she's lying.  Starling would've arrested McCracken or shot him.  She wouldn't have…done what was done to him.  Lecter did it.  Lecter was there. He punished McCracken for taking what was his.  Then…he took her.  He must've knifed her and taken her with him."  

Tears sprang to Ardelia Mapp's eyes.  "So Clarice is dead."  

"Clarice is gone," Crawford agreed somberly.  


	12. Saved

_                Author's note:  A sunset ending, a few people have asked?  Well, here's as close as I get._

                The first thing she noticed was the twittering of birds.  _Tweet tweet tweet, _outside her window.  Her stomach hurt.  Her later memories of that time were broken shards.  Light coming in the window.  The birds, again.  The sting of a needle.  A calm voice talking to her.  A sweet, spicy beverage she rather enjoyed.  In between them all, flashes of black.  

                Clarice Starling finally awoke to look around her room.  It was quite large.  The walls were painted pristine white.  A large window let in sunlight on one side of the room.  It was daytime, and she blinked owlishly at the light.  There was a large oak desk in the corner of the bedroom.  There was Dr. Hannibal Lecter seated in its chair.  

                She wet her lips and eyed him carefully.  

                "Good afternoon, Clarice," Dr. Lecter said courteously.  

                "Good afternoon, Dr. Lecter," Clarice echoed.  She glanced down at herself and discovered she was wearing silk pajamas.  Had he changed her?  It seemed he had.  She flushed red for a moment at the thought.  "What am I…how long have I been here?"  

                "Not terribly long," Dr. Lecter assured her.  He grinned.  "I'm afraid I had to do some work on you.  Mr. McCracken wasn't much of a surgeon, you see."  

                McCracken.  Charlene.  "Where's Charlene?"  she asked immediately.  

                Dr. Lecter shrugged.  "She was treated and held overnight, from what I understand," he said.  "She's since been released from the hospital."  

                "I want to see her," Clarice said.  

                Dr. Lecter shook his head.  "I'm afraid not," he said mildly.  "You're not ready to get out of bed yet, I don't think.  Mr. McCracken opened up your abdominal wall.  What you need, Clarice, is a heavy dose of antibiotics and rest."  

                Clarice stared at Dr. Lecter like an unarmed gunslinger.  "Dr. Lecter…I can do that in the hospital," she said.  

                Dr. Lecter sighed.  "I suppose," he said.  "I don't think you'd want to, though." 

                Clarice frowned at him.  "Why not?" she asked.  "What's wrong with the hospital?"  

                "Well," Dr. Lecter allowed, "I don't care for them at all.  And especially the hospitals here.  Not up to scratch."  

                Clarice Starling swallowed nervously.  He seemed quite calm and relaxed.  Then again, the man had seemed calm and relaxed when the police searched his basement.  She thought of the photos and shivered.  

                "Dr. Lecter, look," she said.  "If I've been hurt that bad,  I think I ought to go to the hospital.  At least get checked out.  Are you telling me I can't?"  

                Dr. Lecter chuckled.  "Ah, yes.  That's right, you still think you're back in the United States.   Your faith in the establishment – medical or otherwise – remains as strong as ever. But to answer your question, Clarice, you're correct.  The answer is no."

                Clarice stared distrustfully at the doctor.  Then the first part of what he'd said hit her, and her jaw sagged open.  She gawped at him openly.  

                "You…you…where the hell am I?"  

                Dr. Lecter chuckled.  "In a country home in a pleasant estate, far from the FBI.  That's all you need to know for now, Clarice."  

                She slid out of the bed, her legs rasping against the smooth cotton sheets.  If she could catch him with one or two good kicks, she could get away.  But her body was no longer the smoothly trained fighting machine it had been.  When her feet touched the floor, two great blasts of pain radiated from her stomach.  Her knees unhinged and she spilled to the floor and lay there, gasping.  

                Dr. Lecter's footsteps echoed as he walked up to her calmly.  He took a moment to look down at her.  

                "Now why did you do that, Clarice?" he asked, a sardonic _tut-tut-tut _evident in his tone.  "Foolish, really.  I assure you I shan't hurt you while you are my guest."  

                Clarice seethed.  She'd always hated dependency.  She'd always stood on her own two feet.  Now she couldn't even literally do that.  Now she would depend on…a serial killer.  

                _Face it, _she thought, _I'm gonna be in a casserole before long.  _

Or was she?  No, she couldn't think that way.  

                "I want to leave," Clarice said through gritted teeth.  

                Dr. Lecter squatted down.  Amazingly, he managed to look dignified and elegant even while doing so.  He slid his arms under Clarice and raised her back to the bed.  

                "I trust we shall not have to try that again," he said.  

                "I said, I want to leave," Clarice repeated, her eyes locked on his.  

                Dr. Lecter's face lit in a grin, then.  She recognized it.  It was the same way he had grinned at her in his cell in Memphis.  When he'd told her he would listen now.  When he'd challenged her.    

                "_No._" Dr. Lecter said peremptorily.  His eyes did not waver from hers.  

                "What did you say?"  Clarice said disbelievingly.   

                "I'm not letting you leave, Clarice," Dr. Lecter said, as if explaining it to a child.  He chuckled.  "I let you make the choice once.  Now just _look _what happened."  

                "You can't keep me here," Clarice panted.  

                Dr. Lecter smiled again.  "Why can't I?" he asked quizzically.  

                "Listen," Clarice said.  "I told you I'd let you go if you found Charlene."  

                "And I did," Dr. Lecter agreed.  "You didn't trust me, though, did you?"

                "Yes, and I suppose I owe you an apology for that," Clarice said.  Politeness meant a lot to Dr. Lecter.  

                "Why, thank you," Dr. Lecter smiled. 

                "But I do not want to stay here.  I want to return to my home and my job and all.  You're keeping me here against my will."  

                Dr. Lecter nodded for a beat or two.  He seemed almost merry.  Was the sick son of a bitch actually _enjoying _this?  That answer was pretty obvious.  Yes, he was.  He had a starling with a crippled wing, and he was enjoying every minute of this.  

                "I see you've made your decision, Clarice," he said.  "Now let's see you enforce it."  

                They both knew she couldn't stand, let alone defeat him in physical combat.  A few beats passed.  Dr. Lecter decided to be magnanimous and not rub it in.  _Yeah, _Clarice thought, _you're just having a blast, aren't you.  _

"So tell me," Dr. Lecter said.  "Why do you want to leave?"  

                Clarice thought for a moment.  "I have my job."  

                Dr. Lecter snorted.  "Your job?  Please, Clarice, you've been reinstated, but the stain of suspension will never quite be rinsed from you.  You'll go back and work for thirty more years and retire a broken woman with no rank and no real pay.  They don't appreciate you.  Try again."  

                The truth of the statement bit deeply into her.  For a moment, she remembered her younger self's words.  _You see a lot, doctor.  _His perception had only increased in the years since. 

                "For my family," Clarice continued.  

                Dr. Lecter made a face.  "Your little niece, you mean?  Nice girl, yes, but she needs to work on her grammar."  He chuckled.  "But how much does she really mean to you, Clarice?"  

                Clarice gawped.  Hadn't she gone through enough torment for Charlene's sake?  Did he think everyone was as merciless and sociopathic as he was?  

                "What the red fuck is _that _supposed to mean?" she asked heatedly, not bothering to care if she angered him.  

                Dr. Lecter's answer was as brutal as it was elegant.  "The simple truth, Clarice.  Unvarnished, that is, even if it is unpleasant.  Now tell me, and don't lie, or I'll know."  He sat back down in his desk chair and put his hands on his lap.  "When was the last time you saw Charlene?"  

                Clarice's eyes narrowed.  "The day she was kidnapped," she said.  

                "_Before _that."  

                Clarice sighed, realizing where he was going.  "She was four," Clarice admitted.  

                "Eleven years since you last saw her, and you expect me to believe she's the reason you want to go back?"  Dr. Lecter chuckled and shook his head.  "It won't do.  Be honest, Clarice, honesty is sometimes painful and brutal, but you must sometimes look into yourself and acknowledge your evils.  You avoided your niece for the same reason you avoided your sister and all of your existing family.  Because they reminded you of your origins." His voice shifted into a mocking Southern accent.  "Jus' your little white-trash niece, your white-trash sister.  You couldn't bear the thought that _you _might be like them, could you?  That all the college degrees and FBI identification and that accent you sought to scrub from your voice might not have been enough?  So you avoided them, Clarice.  You couldn't dare acknowledge that you were blood kin to such tornado-bait, trailer-park white trash, could you?" 

                That cut Clarice, and cut her because she knew it was true.  She'd sent birthday cards to Charlene for most of her life, and that had been it.  She'd never approved of Patty's life choices.  Dr. Lecter's words made her eyes fill with angry tears and she blinked them away.  As he had once said, she had the onions to carry on.  

                "All right," Clarice said.  "Maybe that was true.  Maybe I didn't…maybe I wasn't a good relative.  But that changed.  I got to like Charlene.  She's a good kid.  And I'll change."  

                Dr. Lecter coughed.  "Clarice, you cared for Charlene because she became a lamb, a needy lamb needing your rescue.  That you suffered over her ordeal with Mr. McCracken I don't doubt – I saw you crying, after all.  But let us face the facts.  You suffered because of yourself.  Because this had happened on your watch.  You felt responsible."  

                "No," Clarice said, "that's not true."  

                "That's part of it," Dr. Lecter parried.  "You wouldn't have felt _as much _guilt if it had happened when Patricia was watching her.  In fact, own up, Clarice – had that happened, you'd have thought something like _Well, that's what happens when you act like such white trash_.  You'd never have spoken it, but you'd have thought it."  

                "No," Clarice said powerlessly.   Unsurprisingly, she found that she didn't want to think too much about that.  And besides, she had to get back to the subject. "Look, Dr. Lecter.  I said I wanted to leave.  You wouldn't keep me here against my will, would you?"   Her mind flicked past the crime-scene photos graven in her consciousness.  He would if he wanted to.  He'd done a lot worse.  

                "Oh," Dr. Lecter allowed, "first of all, you're in no condition to leave, Clarice.  Secondly, I want to talk with you.  We'll talk about many things…your father, your family, and yourself.  And once we're done talking, Clarice…and _only _then…, I will ask you if you wish to stay or if you wish to leave.  Right now, your demanding to be set free is just a knee-jerk response.  I want to know what you _truly _want.  And I will honor your decision then with all due care."  

                He crossed around to her bedside and extracted a syringe from its wrapper.  Clarice eyed him helplessly.  She knew where this was going.  Drugs, hypnosis, therapy.  The tools of a psychiatrist.  She didn't fight him as he gave her the injection. Even as the needle entered her arm, sending a rush of psychotropic drugs into her bloodstream, she knew that Dr. Lecter would slowly probe her mind until she would agree to stay.  As her eyes closed and she felt herself finally relax, she knew that she was lost.  That she would agree to abandon her family, her job, everything she had fought and struggled for.  She would stay with him.  As she slid into a drugged state of calmness, she heard his voice speaking gently.

                A few weeks later, she had to wonder why she'd thought it was so terrible.  She told him she would stay.  She understood much better now.


	13. Those Left Behind

                _Author's note:  Well, that wasn't the end of the story, actually.  This is.   Dunno if anyone noticed, but we did just switch from movie ending to book ending.  Neato, huh?  And while Dr. Lecter may have brainwashed Clarice and moved on with her as he did in the book, it seems he's not the only one good at manipulation…._

                SEVEN YEARS LATER: 

                _Why am I still here? _Jack Crawford wondered.  _And why do I feel like I have to do this?  _

But he knew the answer.  Bella was gone.  All he had was Behavioral Sciences, the unit that he had patiently built from nothing over the years.  Without his job, there wasn't anything to do.  He couldn't stand the idea of rocking on his porch.  Fortunately, he had allies in the House of Representatives who had managed to get him around the mandatory retirement age.    Cultivating all those allies all those years ago had its benefits.  Ever since Clarice had disappeared, he'd returned to his job with newfound strength.   Now, he had allies throughout the Bureau – not as many as he would have liked, but enough.  

                Some things had changed.  He used a cane now.  A few of the younger kids in Behavioral Sciences thought that was privately funny.  He grabbed its polished hardwood crook and began to slowly limp down the hall to the elevator.  He had arthritis in his hands now too, and his knuckles were pulsing with red waves of pain.  But Crawford gritted his teeth and ignored it.  He wasn't too decrepit to be forced out of his post.  But the stairs were ancient territory to Jack Crawford.  He was old enough to use the elevator.  

                As it hummed upstairs, he found himself thinking of the past.  That didn't surprise him: there were more days behind than days ahead.  But for the first time in years, he found himself thinking of Clarice Starling.  They'd never found her body.  That alone didn't surprise him.  They _still _hadn't ever found the body of that Princeton student from all those years ago.  Dr. Lecter could hide bodies exceedingly well when he wanted to.  

                 The elevator binged open.  Crawford walked out the hall and found himself wishing for the aspirin in his desk drawer downstairs.  A few people smiled at him as he passed.  Crawford didn't smile back.  Instead, he soldiered on down the hall to a particular small office.  

                Seated at the desk was a young woman.  Her back was to him, and he could only see the soft brown curls of her hair. She was typing away at a computer keyboard and didn't notice him at first. Crawford took a moment to observe her before he announced his presence.  

                Her desk was spartan.  The only things even vaguely personal on it were her college degree and two photographs.  Crawford studied them wordlessly.  At first glance, you might have thought they were copies of the same picture.  In each one, a woman with brown hair and blue eyes was smiling, accepting her first FBI identification from a burly man in a suit.  Only by looking closer would you notice that one woman's hair was straight and the other's curly.  Had you bothered to squint at the banner behind the woman, you would have also noticed that one read _FBI Academy Class of 1991 _and the other read _FBI Academy Class of 2007.  _  

                Crawford sighed.  Apparently Hannibal Lecter's last foray hadn't only claimed Dave McCracken as a victim.  So far as he knew, McCracken was still in his prison cell back in Raleigh.  It was probably sheer hell for him back there. Raleigh prison authorities had reported they'd had to keep the disfigured strangler in protective custody on a permanent basis.  This was the only one of Lecter's crimes where he actually found himself sympathizing with the good doctor.  But now he had the possibility of putting Lecter away once and for all.  

                Of all the killers and fugitives who Jack Crawford had tried to hunt, Dr. Lecter was the only one who had evaded him so long.  Crawford wanted to close the Lecter file before he stepped down.  Once Dr. Lecter was back in custody, Crawford could retire with a clear conscience.  No one would have gotten away from him.  No one.  

                Crawford cleared his throat.  The young woman turned.  Blue eyes very similar to what he had seen before raked across him, taking his measure.  Then her face started in surprise and she stood hurriedly.  

                "Mr. Crawford," she said with surprise.  "I didn't hear you come in."  Her voice contained an assiduously hidden West Virginia drawl.  Crawford closed his eyes and thought of days past.   

                "That's all right."  

                "Let me get you a chair," she said, and scurried out of the office before he could protest.  Besides, he needed it.  A few moments later, she came back dragging a plastic chair behind him.  She offered it to him and then sat down on her own desk chair.  

                "Is there something you needed, sir?" she asked.    

                "I hear you want to work for me.  Well, Behavioral Sciences, that is."  

                "Eventually," Charlene admitted.  "I know, I need to work a few years in the field offices first.  They've assigned me here in DC for now."  

                "I know.  That was me."  Crawford shifted in the chair.  "Look, I want to ask you a couple of questions here."  

                She shrugged.  "Ask away," she said nonchalantly.  

                "I've been sort of keeping an eye on you when you came to the Academy," he said.  "I know there was some hooraw about a name change while you were in training."  

                Charlene shrugged.  "It's really nowhere near as big a deal as everyone's made it out to be, sir," she said.  "I filed name-change papers.  I didn't even change my name, really.   I just sort of took it back."  

                "Wanna tell me about it?"  

                "Sure," Charlene said.  "When I was born, my name was Charlene Starling.  My mother got married when I was six, and my stepfather adopted me, so I took his name.  So ever since then my name was Charlene Stenson.  All that I did was add back the Starling, really."  

                Crawford sighed.  "So your new name is-," 

                "Charlene Stenson Starling," Charlene supplied.  

                Crawford nodded slowly.  A living memorial, that's what it was. Good.  She was obsessed.  Her guilt over Clarice's disappearance had forced her to remold herself in her aunt's image. "What made you want to do this in the middle of your training?"  

                Charlene shrugged.  "It was something I wanted to do," she said.   "All I wanted was to have both my names.  I really don't see what the big deal is."

                "Sorta struck people as around here as kind of odd.  Well, hell, I mean, you know."  

                Charlene's eyes clouded.  "Yes, sir, I do," she said.  

                "And that's something else," Crawford said.  He swallowed.  For some reason it was harder than he expected to say.  "Starling," he began, "I had the IT office run a check on the Lecter file on VICAP.  To see who'd accessed it."  His gnarled fingers fumbled inside his jacket pocket for a moment and came out with a folded sheet of white paper.  He placed it on the desk.  Charlene leaned forward and looked down at it.  A few lines were highlighted, and they both examined those first.  He wanted her to see those names.

6/10/2000 13:35:01  RPAZZI@QUESTURA.IT

6/11/2000 14:45:34  CSTARLING

                              6/12/2000 18:23:12  PKRENDLER

                There were others, but they were not of interest to Crawford. A few more instances of CSTARLING were outlined so that she would see them.  The username AMAPP appeared now and again, especially after Clarice had gone missing.  At the bottom was another highlighted entry, and Crawford pointed to that.  

                8/14/2007 12:32:52  CSSTARLING 

                "Why is a rank rookie looking at the Lecter file?" he asked.  

                Charlene shifted.  The corner of her mouth worked.  

                "So far as I know, sir, I have legitimate access to the VICAP database," she said.  "I _am _an FBI agent.  Have I violated any rule?  If I did, I apologize.  I wasn't aware of anything specifically keeping me from that file."  

                Crawford sighed.  "That's not what this is about."  He didn't want to call her Charlene, since that implied a familiarity he didn't feel comfortable with.  But calling her by her last name gave him the spookies.  "Look.  I know what happened with you and McCracken and…Lecter.  But McCracken's in custody and we're looking for Lecter."  

                "You've never found him," Charlene Stenson Starling said archly.  

                "Look, Starling," he said, and winced.   _Easy now, Jack, ease off, make it look like you disapprove.  Just slightly.  Gotta be believable. _ "I'm gonna be out of here eventually.  You've still got a whole career ahead of you.  Don't do something dumb that's gonna get yourself a name right now.  Lecter's on the Most-Wanted list and he'll stay there. We'll catch him. Be cool."  

                "I was just looking at the file, sir," Charlene said.  

                Crawford looked at her as a parent might look at a recalcitrant teenager.  _OK, now play the Dutch uncle.  Give her sound advice.  She won't expect me to understand.  But I do, kiddo, you bet I do.  _

                "Don't try to get revenge, Starling," he said, and winced again.  "Let us do our job."  

                She said nothing for several moments.  Her eyes burned with pain.  Yes, Crawford thought, the dominant image in Charlene's life was still the sight of Hannibal Lecter carrying her stripped and bloody aunt away.  Good.

                "May I speak freely, sir?" she asked finally.  

                Crawford grunted.  His hands hurt.  "Yes," he said.  _There you go, kiddo, why don't you just throw yourself right into Uncle Jack's arms here. _

                "Sir, I know perfectly well that there are good, professional FBI agents searching for Dr. Lecter.  But I have something they don't.  Hannibal Lecter killed my aunt.  He kidnapped her and then he killed her.  And I was only fifteen, and I couldn't do anything to help her then.  All the professionalism and all the good intentions in the world won't put Hannibal Lecter behind bars.  If it did, he'd have been caught when I was a child."  

                Her voice had gotten just a bit thick, Crawford noted.  He sighed.   Unwanted tears rose to her eyes and she blinked them away resolutely.  As she continued, her eyes began to flash angrily.   Nothing would be able to dissuade her any more than anything could have dissuaded Clarice Starling from saving her lambs.   This was something she had to say.  This was something she had to _do.  _And Jack Crawford thought it was just great.  

                "I couldn't save my aunt's life, Mr. Crawford.  I've had to live with that for _years _now.  She risked her life to save me and she lost it.  I can't bring her back.  Dr. Lecter killed her.  But I _can _give her justice.  And I'll do that, no matter _what _it takes, no matter how long it takes.  I _am _going to bring Hannibal Lecter to justice for what he's done.  Whether you approve of it or not."  

                He nodded once and tried not to remember another young FBI agent.  _Don't let him get in your head, Starling, _he'd said.  And now here Dr. Lecter was, in another Starling's head.  Now he played boogeyman in lieu of teacher, but he was there.  For Jack Crawford, that was very, very good.   Things were working out better than he'd hoped.

                _How does the sick son of a bitch do it?  _he wondered.   He swallowed.  Lately he was so tired.  But he had to bait Charlene Stenson Starling just as he had baited other agents before.  Will Graham and his obsession over Lecter, which had enough spillover to bring him into the Dolarhyde case.  Clarice and her lambs.  Charlene might be their best chance to bag Lecter.  

                "Dr. Lecter killed my aunt," Charlene repeated, and her eyes narrowed.  "And I'm going to get him."  

                Crawford nodded.  Now he had to be careful and feed her just enough approval so she'd buy it. _Now you're converted, Jack. Play the role. _ "I believe you," he said softly.  Should he trust her?  Would her need to see justice for her aunt be the final push the FBI needed to finally catch Lecter? After all, they'd been spinning their wheels for years while the doctor remained free.  

                But what about the nagging voice in the back of his head that told him Lecter wouldn't have killed Clarice?  He strongly suspected that Lecter had instead convinced Starling to go with him.  It was a nagging idea that Jack Crawford had never been able to shake.   Was Clarice happy with him?  

Charlene would never believe that her aunt had gone with Dr. Lecter, voluntarily or…otherwise.   Her entire life had been structured around the idea that Dr. Lecter had killed Clarice Starling.  She was blind that way.  If Lecter _hadn't _killed Clarice, her life would fall apart. But that blindness was something he could use, just as he'd used Will Graham and Clarice Starling in his time.   He told the voice to shut up.   He wanted Lecter caught.  Charlene could do that for him.  If Clarice was alive…well, she'd just learn to deal, wouldn't she?  

                 He'd have to tread on a few toes to get her where she needed to be, but that wasn't a problem.  And there was no Krendler in Charlene's path yet.  He'd have to get her under a friendly boss, someone who would let him take her for the Lecter case.  But that was easy.  And he'd already begun laying the groundwork for it the moment someone had told him that Charlene had adopted a new last name midway through the Academy.  

                Her eyes lit up.  It was so easy sometimes to lead people; all you had to do was figure out what they wanted.  Charlene wanted to catch Dr. Lecter.  All she needed were the tools.  Crawford would give them to her.

                "And I want to help you do that.  But you gotta work with me here." 

                She tilted her head at him and smiled.  For a moment, he was doubly reminded of Clarice and Bella.  _Oh, quit it, _he thought.  But Dr. Lecter behind bars would make such a great retirement present.  Charlene would work doggedly to catch him.  She'd stay late, follow up on leads, whatever he needed.  The other agents on the Lecter case simply wanted to catch Lecter.  Charlene _needed _to.  

                "I'm listening, Mr. Crawford," Charlene said instantly. 

                Jack Crawford grinned.  She'd taken the bait; now he just had to reel her in nice and slow.  

                "I'm going to make a few phone calls for you," he said.  "See if I can get you working for the guy running the Lecter case.  You've got great credentials, but you're new.  What I need you to do for me is just sort of keep your head down.  Keep out of trouble."  _Don't meet up with a Krendler, _was what he wanted to say.  "You'd start off just doing small stuff, you understand.  But eventually we could have you as a full-fledged member of the team."  That carrot had kept Clarice around for _years.  _Would it work for Charlene?  He thought it might.  

                "I understand," she said, and leaned forward eagerly.  "Thank you, Mr. Crawford.  I won't let you down."

Jack Crawford smiled.  He got up slowly.  Charlene Stenson Starling got up and saw him to the door solicitously.  His cane clattered against the floor.   Even despite his age, he found himself feeling spryer on the trip back down to Behavioral Sciences.  Yes, it was a good day.  He had a new pawn, and this pawn might be able to put Dr. Lecter in check.  __

                Back in her small office, Charlene Starling sat down behind her desk.  She took the graduation picture of Clarice Starling and stared at it with hard eyes.   It occurred to her that she ought to be happy.  The legendary Jack Crawford wanted her on his team.  He would give her the tools to do what she needed.  But there was a streak of grief and memory that overrode any joy she might have felt.  All the same, she was closer to her purpose.  

                "I told you I'd set it right, Aunt Clarice," she said to the picture.  Her voice was hard and not without pain. "I'll catch Hannibal Lecter if it's the last thing I do.  I _swear _I will."  

FIN


End file.
